by Abbey, Kit
“He doesn’t look so special,” whispered the younger of the two newcomers.
William was happy to hear that assessment. You know who did look special? Crazy people, that’s who.
The elevator slowed to a stop and once again the doors slid smoothly open. Rowan moved into the hall, a jerk of her head indicating that William should follow.
The carpet was red, of course. William was preparing himself for the roof-ward glance when he spotted the other guy do it. You could actually see the tension leave his shoulders. William wondered if his own fear of ceilings was as obvious.
The air down here tasted funny. Stale. The four of them rounded a corner, and William stopped short. They’d entered a large area with a waiting room vibe. There were chairs lining one of the walls, some indoor plants, and coffee tables strewn with books made to be strewn across coffee tables. The wall opposite the chairs was taken up by an enormous window. A great many jellyfish drifted by.
William was not shocked that they were underground, given how long the elevator had descended, but he was shocked to learn that the Grey Building extended underwater. How many times had he ridden over it in the ferry, counting jellyfish out loud when he was a kid and in his head when he’d been older? And Grey Corp had been lurking below all along. Was there any part of the city it hadn’t infiltrated? Was there a Grey Corp air ship hovering above the clouds? Actually, that would be cool.
The water gave the room a soft blue glow, and it reminded him of the light filtering into the blue tent in his completely-normal-to-be-expected-not-at-all-an-omen-of-oncoming-madness-vision in the elevator.
“He doesn’t look so special.”
“I know, right?”
The kid from the elevator had slumped into one of the chairs, and he was discussing William’s lack of specialness with the girl sitting next to him. She had a pixie cut, and a whole bunch of earrings in both of her ears.
“Where’s Kirk?” asked Rowan.
The girl shrugged, “said he had to go do something.”
Rowan sat in the chair furthest from the two kids. The black guy went to stand next to her. William hovered by the big window, hands in his pockets. He wondered how thick the glass holding all that water back was.
“It’s completely unfair,” said the girl. “I’ve almost been here a year, and you’ve been here, what, six months?”
“Seven and a half,” replied the guy.
“Right. Can’t believe we have to share our first lesson with some noob.”
William was pretty sure that he was ‘some noob.’
“Whiny little thing, isn’t she?” Rowan asked.
The black guy shifted his weight and cleared his throat. The girl flushed and sunk down into her seat. A new man strode into the room, brushing by William as though he wasn’t there. He clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. “Horace! And Rowan! I almost didn’t believe it when they told me the boss was trusting you with another new employee!”
Well. That was comforting.
“Mmm,” said Rowan.
The guy, who was bald and looked like a colonel or something, clapped again. “And! Where is the lad?”
Rowan waved a finger at William, and colonel-dude turned around. “There you are! Illuded a tree with no training, or so I heard.”
“So they tell me,” said William.
“Impressive, very impressive.” He took William’s hand and subjected it to a brutal, crushing shake. “Name’s Kirk Farland, it’s good to see new talent coming through the doors.”
“If you’re done,” said Rowan, “could we get on with it please?”
“Of course, of course.” Kirk relinquished William’s poor hand, and Rowan pointed
towards the door without getting up.
“Get in there,” she said.
“Remember Lucy,” said Kirk, “do exactly as she says. Exactly!”
The girl nodded.
“Try not to make eye contact,” said Horace.
The boy nodded.
William looked at Rowan. She yawned and idly flicked through a coffee table book. Oh well. Having even the slightest idea what was going on was overrated. William followed the other two through the door.
Chapter 16.
She was little, and old, and holding a really big stick.
William looked down at her. She waved her big stick threateningly. “Don’t look down at me boy!”
Looking up at her was going to be hard, as she was sitting on a cushion and William was standing. He looked at his companions, who were too busy not talking back and not making eye contact to help. Half expecting a whack, he sat cross legged in front of her.
“You two plan to stand around all day?” She waited for William’s new best friends to sit.
“Alright.” She was wearing a thick black jumper. She pushed the sleeves back up to her elbows, revealing bony arms. Her manner reminded William very much of Mr. Escot, the Assistant Principal at his old high school. The guy had been doing his job for decades, and he was getting far too old for it thank you very much, so sit there, shut up, and don’t even think about it.
The old woman, who William figured must be the ‘Madeline’ from the plaque, eyed them, tapping her stick on the floor. “Names?” When no one answered she jabbed the guy in the stomach. “Names?”
“David,” he said.
She jabbed the girl. “Lucy Waycott.”
“William Black,” said William quickly, before she could jab him.
“Alright.” Her sleeves had slipped down, so she rolled them up again. “You’re here because you’ve proven you have enough Illuding ability to not be a total waste of time.”
David was giving William disbelieving side eye. William pretended not to notice.
“You’re not special because you can Illude. Almost everyone has the potential inside of them. You could live your whole life and never know it, unless you have the good fortune to come face to face with our old friend Albert.” She paused delicately. “Good fortune being a relative term, in this case.”
Lucy let out a nervous giggle.
“Albert was found over a hundred years ago by Nathaniel Grey, and without Albert we wouldn’t be here. How is it that proximity to the creature awakens latent Illuding abilities?” She stopped, like she wanted an actual answer, but then shrugged. “Who knows. Who bloody cares. I’m here to teach you how to be useful, you do as I say and we’ll get along just fine. Now tell me; what is Illuding?”
William had no idea, but the other two raised their hands. Good grief, it was like he’d never left high school.
Madeline waved the stick at David. “The changing of perceptions,” he said.
“I’ll assume Horace is your mentor, then?”
He nodded.
“‘The changing of perceptions.’” She snorted. “Yeah, that’s just the rubbish he likes to spout.” She whacked the floor with her stick. “Look here. It’s simple. You’re just convincing things to appear to be something else.” She whacked the stick again, and when it impacted with the floor it stopped being a stick and starting being a snake. It slithered across the floor between Lucy and David. Lucy shrieked and almost landed in William’s lap trying to get away from it.
“Calm down,” he said, shoving her off. “It’s only a stick.”
“Does it look like a stick?” Madeline demanded. “Does it feel like a stick? If it bites you, will you die?”
William glanced over his shoulder at the stick-reptile. “I don’t know, would I?”
“Depends,” said Madeline, “on how strong the illusion. On the strength and skill of the Illuder. Weak minds are easy to fool, strong minds less so. But if wield enough skill-” she grinned and rolled up her sleeves- “then you can kill grown men with a stick. Or,” -from a box sitting next to her she removed a coke can- “feed hundreds with garbage.” It turned into an apple. She handed it to David. “Eat it.”
He took a bite out of the app
le, and then pulled a face and spat it right back out.
Madeline cackled. “There are different levels. Looks like an apple, but it doesn’t taste like an apple! The stronger the Illusion, the harder it is for the Illuder to maintain. The stronger the mind, the harder the Illuder has to work.”
This was a lot of new information for William to process. David and Lucy were looking like they had heard most of it before; their mentors had probably filled them in. William tried to imagine Rowan dispensing helpful advice.
“Alright.” Madeline reached back into the box and pulled out a blue felt bag. She shook it, and spilled its contents in front of them. Such a bag looked like it might hold bones, or mystic dice. This one held Lego piecs. “One of these pieces is Illuded. Your minds are untrained, and your powers still weak. You won’t be able to tell-”
William pointed. “That one.”
“Ah now.” Madeline stared at him. “You made an Illuded tree solid enough to climb yesterday, didn’t you?”
William nodded.
She stared at him for a while longer, then waved the three of them towards the door. “Lesson’s over. Out, the lot of you!”
David and Lucy glared at him, and William left the room quickly.
Chapter 17.
The next day William met someone new in the hallway outside his room. A thin, pale young man with a pleasant grin. His hands were cold but his handshake was firm and, like everything else about his demeanour, friendly.
“Name’s Chris,” he said in a voice that was a lot deeper than his appearance would have suggested.
“Pleased to meet you,” said William, who really was. He was starved for friendly faces.
Chris grinned. “So you’re the poor sod they stuck with Rowan?”
William nodded, and mimed shooting himself in the head.
Chris laughed again. “You have my pity, man. You have my pity. The last new newbie they stuck with her went missing after two months, never seen again!”
“Well that’s comforting.”
“I’m sure that won’t happen to you though. Probably. Maybe.” His grin widened with each amendment, and William couldn’t help but grin back. “Rumour going ‘round is that you saw Madeline yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“Seriously? God, they don’t normally send the Illudy-noobies out to her for a few months at least. And you still have all your limbs, doubly impressive.”
“She seemed alright,” said William, who had if nothing else appreciated Madeline’s willingness to speak plainly. “Whopping big stick aside.”
“Ha, glad you think so!” Chris lifted his shirt, revealing a round scar on his stomach, “crazy old bat Illuded a gun and shot me, just to prove to the others it could be done!”
“Wow,” said William. “Did you die?”
Chris pulled a face of mock solemnity. “Yes. Yes I did.”
They both laughed.
“Are you an Illuder too, then?” asked William, wondering why he couldn’t have been paired with this nice guy instead of everybody’s favourite little ray of sunshine; Rowan.
“Nah, not me,” he said. “They thought I might have had an aptitude for it, way back when I started here, but it turns out I was better suited to other things.”
William checked his watch, and it informed him that time had in fact moved in reverse. He rolled his eyes and wondered if he could Illude it into working.
“I’d better go,” he said, “don’t want to keep Rowan waiting.”
“Oh god no, of course you don’t,” said Chris. “I heard that years ago one of her charges was late down, so she cut of a whole bunch of their fingers and fed them to Albert!”
William made it downstairs in record time.
Chapter 18.
He and Rowan spent the rest of the day performing a myriad of tasks (which is to say, he performed them, Rowan sat around looking bored); from visiting a wounded police officer in hospital (whom Rowan spoke to with sympathetic words in a tone that was anything but), to Illuding a rundown white Commodore into a blue Jaguar.
“Awesome,” said the same Chinese man they’d met at the restaurant days before. He’d handed Rowan an address, full of assurances that Gwendoline Shannon could be found there. The car upgrade was his reward. “Thanks kid.”
“No problem,” replied William, rubbing his temples. The headache had been fading all day, but Illuding the car had paved the way for a comeback.
“This had better not be a fake lead,” said Rowan.
The Chinese guy mimed being stabbed in the heart. It was an elaborate production. “Is that what you think of me baby?” Rowan glared, and he laughed. Possibly he was insane. “She’s there. Trust me!” He jumped happily into his much nicer looking car, and peeled out of the empty parking lot.
“What’s the address” asked William, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Rowan ignored his question, (of course she did). “Headache?”
William shrugged. “A little one, yeah.”
She pulled a black planner out of her pocket and began to consult it. “Everyone gets them when they start.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Rowan appeared to be in a slightly better mood than day before, and so William felt brave enough to ask, “how long do these headaches generally last for?”
She shrugged. “It depends.” She looked at him for a moment before turning back to the planner. “Madeline hasn’t stopped rabbiting on about how much power you have. Headaches don’t normally bother those strong in Illuding.”
“And yet,” said William, rubbing his temples.
“And all you have done is a bit of low key illusion solidifying and manipulation. So really, you shouldn’t be getting headaches at all. You haven’t even touched on the big stuff.” She looked at him in a very suspicious manner, and William was had a sudden nasty feeling that she knew about the Bouncer. Illuding someone’s thoughts definitely seemed like it would fall under the ‘big stuff’ umbrella. Jones was going to kill him. Slowly. And with lots of blood. William didn’t know Jones so well, but he seemed like the kinda guy who would be happiest amidst lots of blood.
“Unless,” said Rowan, and William felt sweat break out on his forehead, “unless you’re not really as powerful as everyone seems to believe?” Feelings of confusion were closely followed by feelings of relief as William realised she didn’t know about the bouncer after all. “Mr. Grey and Madeline may be all atwitter over you and your extraordinary abilities-” she added mocking emphasis to the last two words, “-but I think you’re nothing special.”
“I never claimed to be,” said William, too relieved to be annoyed. “If they all think I’ve got uber powers, then that’s on them.”
Rowan rolled her eyes, and headed back towards the Mustang. William hesitated, then followed. “So,” he asked her back, “these headaches, they go away eventually?”
Rowan shrugged and replied without turning around. “They either go away, or increase until you can't take it anymore. High rate of suicide in new employees, you know.”
“Oh,” said William.
Chapter 19.
After nearly half an hour of ignoring him and meandering aimlessly in all directions the western elevator deposited William outside his door.
“Finally,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He was sure his headache only seemed worse than it was because of what Rowan had said. But knowing this did not make the pain less. He pressed his hand against the door and waited for it to register his palm print and let him in. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to go to bed very badly. He wanted to go to bed like a man who really, really, really wanted to go to bed. With a happy little beep the door swung open, and William stepped into his room eagerly. The bed. Oh, the bed. Oh the bed, the bed, the bed, the bed, the bed-
His gleeful train of thought was cruelly derailed. Derailed by Jones, was reclining casually in one of the armchairs, eyes resting cool and observant u
pon William.
“William,” said Jones.
“Jones,” said William.
Long seconds passed. William tried to judge which he should go for, the door or a knife.
“You’ve told no one,” Jones finally said. He didn’t need to be any clearer than that.
“No,” said William, “I haven’t told anyone.”
“I wasn’t asking you a question,” said Jones. “I was stating a fact. Had you told anyone, you wouldn't be here.”
“Why, would they have me killed or something?” Maybe it was the headache, or maybe he was getting desensitised, but William couldn’t muster up much in the way of nerves. “Was your little threat for my own good?”
“I don’t recall threatening you.”
“Not with your words,” said William. “But your actions were able threats. They were gold medal winning actions in the Olympics of threats and other anti-social behaviours.”
Jones stood. “Madeline has told the Boss that you’re Illuding abilities are above average. Extraordinarily so, given Albert’s weakened state.” He stepped over to the big window, and leant against it. “The Boss is very excited about you.”
“People are always getting excited over me,” said William. “It’s because I’m so pretty.”
“Mr. Grey’s attention is not something you should wish to cultivate,” said Jones. “It is in your best interests to see he never finds out about the Bouncer.”
“Your concern for my well being is touching. I’m touched, really.”
“Do you think because you have some talent, that you are secure?”
William avoided the question. “Am I better at it than you?”
Jones rolled his eyes. “I’m not an Illuder. I’m trained in… Other areas.”
William was pretty sure those other areas involved blood, and lots of it. He stepped back. “Other areas?”
“Other areas.” He turned to look out the window. William could see his reflection in the glass, overlaid with the lights of the city; like a whole new set of scars. “I am, for instance, very skilled at tracking down people who insist on talking when they shouldn’t, and killing them.”