by Obert Skye
© 2020 Obert Skye
Interior illustrations by Brandon Dorman
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®, at [email protected]. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.
Visit us at shadowmountain.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
(CIP data on file)
ISBN 978-1-62972-733-2
eISBN 978-1-62973-887-1 (eBook)
Printed in the United States of America
Publishers Printing
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Book design © Shadow Mountain.
Cover illustration: Brandon Dorman.
Author photo courtesy of the author.
Art direction: Richard Erickson. Design: Sheryl Dickert Smith.
To Byron and Karen
I couldn’t have written better in-laws. Thanks for being so exceptional, and for having such a remarkable daughter.
There’s Only Need
I Find It Hard to Tell You
Can’t Operate on This Failure
Watched Over
The Table Is Not Bare
Speechless in a Most Peculiar Way
Just Hoping You Will Play
Completely in Command
Your Mind Is Weak
I Cannot See the Reason for the Pain
Say What You Want
Could You Please Explain
Scars Still Linger
Need Is Great
It’s a Sad Affair
Lack of Details
Just Talk to Him
Feeling and Not Believing
So Good
An Only Child in an Only Room
I Can’t Understand You
The Face You Wore Was Cool
Here Anger Is
He’s Dependent on You
When It’s All Too Late
Has He Gone Away?
Half Alive
Long Exaggerated Drink
A One-Bird Unkindness
Playing Pretend
Sticky
A Fine Mess
Engulfed
No One’s Around
Ideas as Opiates
Breakdown
Scratch the Earth
Go Slow
You Won’t Be Home Soon
The Burial Ground
Change
When the Raven Crows Thrice
Pale Shelter
Monsters
Hotel
You Walked into the Room
The Hurting
What Has Happened?
Hooked on a Feeling
Surprise, Surprise, Surprise
Speaking One’s Mind
A Chance for Repentance
Jumping into the Mind of a Wizard
A Stroke of Luck
The Prisoner Is Now Escaping
Don’t Pretend You Can Justify the End
Calls Out in the Night
Proper Food Choices
Urgency and Fear
Dressing the Part
Could a Person Be So Mean?
ComiCon
Grip of Tension
Lifted Up
All Around Me Are Familiar Faces
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Darkness pushed down like a fat wad of clay under the pressure of a heavy thumb—shoving itself into any cracks, crevasses, or corners it could find. The old moss-covered station sat to the side of the train tracks, a stone castle too worn out to punch its own ticket and move on. The dark rock walls and glass windows were decorated with thick vines and unkempt trees well past needing a trim. Three lonely bulbs lit small pieces of the station—two on the landing, and one inside near the shuttered ticket office.
The place was four beings shy of being deserted.
The last train had just pulled out of the station and the impish woman running the ticket booth had left for home. The smell of cinder and ash mixed with the dark night to create a palpable feeling of heaviness. One of the four beings there was a night watchman who was currently watching the inside of his eyelids while he dozed on a bench. Two others were simply passengers who had arrived on the last train and were now walking away to different destinations.
The fourth person didn’t move away from the station—he moved closer.
The tall man climbed the six stairs leading up to the landing and approached the sleeping watchman like a shadow. The guard was averaged-sized, in his late sixties, with a misshapen nose and wild eyebrows. He was wearing a uniform that consisted of black pants and a gray shirt with the name Hank stitched over the breast pocket. Hank was asleep on a worn wooden bench that rested beneath one of the two lights on the platform.
As the shadowy form moved in under the light, he became illuminated. Not only was the man tall, he was also wearing a pointed hat and sporting a yellow robe that was too short. The robe gave the dark night a bit of color.
“Excuse me,” he said to the sleeping guard. “My name is Rin. You may have heard of me.”
Hank continued to doze.
“Well, maybe you haven’t,” Rin added. “That’s not surprising. I am quite modest, and I don’t do what I do for the glory.”
Hank kept on sleeping.
“Still,” Rin went on, “it’s always nice to be recognized for your talents.”
Hank snored.
“Quick question: do you mind if I borrow your keys?” Rin asked politely. “You see . . .” Rin looked around at the empty platform and shuttered train station. “You see, I need to retrieve something of importance from inside the station. And, well, since it’s you and me here now, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind letting me use your keys for just a moment.”
Hank snored some more.
“Right, you’re thinking, Great wizard, why don’t you just use magic to unlock the station? Certainly, I am capable, but I find it causes less damage and concern to doors and drawbridges if I use keys when available.”
The sleeping guard continued to sleep.
“If it’s agreeable for me to borrow them, say nothing.”
Hank kept silent.
“Perfect,” Rin said happily. “I’ll get them right back to you.”
Rin reached down and carefully unclipped the keys attached to the guard’s belt. With his bounty in hand, he walked across the platform and to the large door attached to the entrance of the station. Sticking a key into the lock, he turned it and listened to the soft click.
“Is there anything more pleasing than the sound of a lock opening?” Rin asked himself. “Yes,” he argued, “but it is definitely one of the top ten sounds.”
Once inside, Rin closed the door behind him. Near the window for the ticket office was a single lightbulb hanging from a black wire. The light from the bulb was weak and humming—it struggled to dimly light the station’s insides.
Rin passed beneath the light, crossed a wooden floor, and avoided a row of benches while walking like a man who knew where he was going. Just past the benches was a short wall of copper-colored lockers. Looking up, he read the number he had written on the underside of his wide gray hat brim.
1983
Rin located locker #1983 and took
a picture of it so he could post it on Instagram later. Then he fished around in the pockets of his robe for the small key he had been holding onto for days. The key was missing.
“Damp,” he cursed. “Oh well.”
Rin chanted a few words that drifted hypnotically around the empty station, then hit the locker with his right fist. The door popped open and he smiled. Rin removed the hat from his head and held it in his hands as an act of respect. Staring into the open locker, he spoke.
“I knew you’d still be here.”
After taking a moment to put his hat back on and adjust it properly, Rin reached in and pulled out a metal toolbox. He cradled the item in his right arm and shut the locker.
“This feels right,” he said happily.
Retracing his steps, Rin moved around the benches, across the floor, and back under the light. Once outside, he locked up the station and returned the keys to the still-sleeping guard.
“Thanks, Hank,” Rin said as he hooked the keys back onto the watchman’s belt. “You did me a favor. So, I’ll leave you with something to think about: The person who sleeps through life masters many dreams.”
The sleeping watchman snored lightly as a warm wind from the south drifted up onto the platform and filled Rin’s nose with the smell of smoke and dirt.
“I’m sure if you were awake you would thank me for the wisdom. And since I am quite woke, I will humbly say you’re welcome.”
Clutching the toolbox tightly, Rin left Hank alone to master his dreams. He moved quickly down the platform, descended the six steps, and walked away from the station and into the dark.
Rin had gotten what he came for.
Once Rin was beyond the tracks, he looked up at the windy blackness as he clung to the box. He took out his phone and took a picture of the dark.
“It sounds cliché,” he said to the air, “but a storm is coming.” Hating the way his words sounded, he tried again. “A low front is sweeping in from the north and causing hot air to rise in a way that will bring rain.” Rin paused. “That’s much better.”
A vertical slit appeared faintly in the dark night. Rin slipped through it like an actor moving behind the curtain. He had what he needed, and the final act was about to begin.
Sigi sat in a booth at Jeff’s Diner, holding her cell phone to her ear. Her dark, curly hair was loose and full and complemented her brown skin nicely. She had on a yellow shirt and white shorts, and her nails were painted red. She smiled as she listened to her phone.
“Good night, Ozzy,” she said, hanging up the phone and setting it on the table. She smiled again. “He says hi.”
Patti, Sigi’s mom, was sitting on the other side of the booth eating a hamburger and fries. The two of them had come to Eugene, Oregon, so Patti could do some work with a local company. They had invited Ozzy, but he decided to remain at their home in Otter Rock. There was little need to worry about him. Ever since the drama they had survived two weeks before, Sheriff Wills had made sure there was always an officer keeping an eye on all of them. Even as they ate, there was a cop car parked in front of the diner, and another parked in front of their house in Otter Rock.
“I say hi back,” Patti said.
Patti was wearing a red shirt with white trim. Her dark skin and short brown hair made her look put together and stylish. She was described by many as being a lovely person. She was described by a few as being someone you shouldn’t mess with. And she was described by a certain wizard as an ex-wife who refused to believe in magic.
Patti typed out a short text to Sheriff Wills on her phone.
“I’m wondering,” she said as she typed, “is now a good time to talk about Ozzy?”
Sigi had just put a bite of pancake into her mouth, making it difficult for her to talk about anything.
“I know you two are close, and . . .” Patti paused to make sure Sigi caught her drift. When Sigi said nothing, she continued. “He’s changed our lives dramatically. I just want to make sure you two are . . .” Patti paused again.
Sigi stopped chewing. “You’re not finishing your sentences.”
“I want to make sure this relationship you two have is healthy.”
“Is this ‘the talk’?” Sigi asked. “Because you probably should have tackled that years ago. But, for the record, Ozzy is extraordinary. He’s extraordinarily unusual, extraordinarily complicated, and extraordinarily interesting. I don’t know if the relationship is healthy. I mean, he’s made things dangerous at times, but not the normal kind of dangerous. I like his grey eyes and how he acts like everything he doesn’t understand is more interesting than scary. He also has a sentient metal bird, lives above our garage, and still can’t match his own clothes. But I’ve never been happier to have someone in my life. So, if my happiness matters, then yes, it’s a healthy relationship.”
Sigi picked up her fork and took another bite of her pancakes.
“Okay,” Patti said, holding up her hands. “I won’t worry about that.”
Sigi smiled and began to work on her scrambled eggs. They had come to the diner for dinner because Sigi was in the mood for breakfast food.
Patti watched Sigi eat a moment before saying, “I don’t remember you liking breakfast so much. Especially for dinner.”
“I guess I do.”
“Your father likes breakfast,” Patti said. “A lot.”
Sigi finished chewing. “Right. Maybe it’s genetic.”
“Or,” Patti said, “maybe everything you’ve been through has changed you.”
“How could it not?”
Patti took a few bites of her hamburger before speaking again.
“Can I ask you something?”
Sigi nodded.
“I don’t know why it makes me nervous to talk about this,” Patti said. “But, well, your father . . . it’s just that your father believes certain things.”
“That’s not a question,” Sigi pointed out.
“Okay,” Patti said, looking less confident than she usually did. “It’s just, you know.”
“I do?”
“I guess I’m worried about him and I’m even more worried about you. Sometimes his mind isn’t quite right.”
“Are you talking about him believing in magic?”
“Yes,” Patti said with relief.
“Or the fact that he says he’s a wizard?”
“That’s part of it for sure.”
“I’ve seen him do some remarkable things,” Sigi said defensively. “I don’t know how to explain them unless . . .”
“They’re magic?” Patti guessed. “Sure, your father is . . . capable. He was a teacher once and he’s done some good things, but I can’t just pretend that his behavior is normal.”
“Everything’s normal somewhere.”
“Right,” Patti said, “but I worry about how his normal affects you.” She took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t easy to talk about, but I need to make sure you’re okay.”
“Should we call this the ‘magic’ talk?” Sigi asked, half-joking. “Are you telling me that when someone loves being a wizard very much, others should doubt them?”
“Then you do think he’s a wizard?” Patti asked carefully.
“I’m glad he’s back in my life,” Sigi answered honestly. “Can’t that be enough? For so many years he was never there. And when he was, he was an embarrassment. Sometimes I felt more out of place with him as my father than I did being black in such a white town. And now that I’m beginning to feel connected to him, you’re worried?”
“It’s just that wizards aren’t real,” Patti said compassionately.
Sigi dropped her fork and locked eyes with her mother.
“If that hurts, I’m sorry,” Patti added. “It’s the reality of the situation.”
“It doesn’t hurt, it’s just maddening,” Sigi admitted. “And I’d li
ke to stop talking about this.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“I think you’re just trying to tell me that my father’s insane, when I have seen firsthand that he is much more than I ever thought possible. I can’t justify everything he does, and heaven knows he drives me crazy sometimes, but he’s not just a man dressing up as a wizard.”
“That’s exactly what he is,” Patti said. “We all want someone in our lives to be magical, to take away the hurt or pain. But, when we’re realistic, all—”
“When we’re realistic, only the straight lines and that even numbers make sense. Dad has found something with more possibility than the stiff and angry reality we live in.”
“You’re scaring me, Sigi.”
“Well, then, maybe I should leave.” Sigi stood up. She was frustrated and her dark eyes were cloudy. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
“Wait,” Patti insisted, “I’ll come with you.”
“It’s right across the street,” Sigi reminded her. “It won’t require any magic for me to make it there.”
“Sigi,” her mother said sternly.
“Mom,” Sigi said, equally stern, “I’m capable of crossing the road. Besides, it’s not like there isn’t a cop watching us.”
Patti sighed. “Don’t be mad. You know I love you.”
Sigi looked shocked. “Of course I know that. This isn’t about you being a great mom. This is about the discovery that I just might have a decent dad as well.”
“He’s decent, but delusional.”
“I hope you don’t talk as kindly about me when I’m not around.”
Stepping away from the booth, Sigi exited the diner and safely navigated her way across the street and back to the hotel. On the surface it seemed like she was right—it required no magic to get back. But had her father been there, he would have pointed out the traffic lights that changed on cue, or that the cars stopped when they should, or how the key card opened the hotel door, and how all those things were all operating under low levels of magic. Rin would have also pointed out that Sigi would be a fool to not acknowledge and be aware of all that.
Of course, what Rin would be unaware of himself is that as low levels of magic were happening, a low-level human was hiding in the shadows watching Sigi’s every move. The low-level human watched her cross the street and enter the hotel. He also saw Patti come out of the diner and make her way to the Hampton Inn. He saw the cop car sitting near the entrance.