May Contain Traces of Magic

by Tom Holt

  She stopped talking. After a moment, Chris said, “I’m sorry.”

  He heard her draw in a long, ragged breath. “There’s a sort of vicious irony about it,” she went on. “The special gift of the Fey is to be centred immaculately in space and time, the way no other entity ever can be. You’ve heard of angels dancing on the head of a pin? That’s us; we exist on a point of time and space so sharp, so precise, that nothing else could possibly balance on something so small; and from there we can see for ever. You can’t begin, to imagine what it’s like; the freedom, the sheer perspective—”

  She fell silent again. He didn’t like to interrupt.

  “Humans have always believed,” SatNav went on, “that in dreams they can see the future. Well, that’s us. It’s our gift to those less fortunate than ourselves. In dreams we can show you where you’re going and what’s waiting for you when you get there. We like to guide people, steer them along the best course, avoiding disasters, pointing them in the right direction. It’s how we give something back, for the pure joy of being us. And so,” she went on, her voice cold and harsh now, “when your friend killed me and I was drifting and I landed in the net, what did they turn me into? Well, quite. At the end of the road, turn left. No, not quite the same. Not the same at all.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chris repeated. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  A sudden stab of intuition. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

  “I see,” he said. “So it was you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It was you,” he said again. “You got Honest John to flush me down the toilet at his shop that time. You wanted—” His head was spinning. It didn’t make any sense. “You wanted to bring me here.”

  “That’s right,” SatNav said cheerfully. “It’d have saved a lot of time and trouble, only she interfered. Still, we’re here now, so no harm done.”

  “Yes, but—” No, hang on a moment, he did understand after all. “And the second time,” he said, “in the park, with the ducks. You want me to—”

  “Ducks?”

  “There were ducks, in the park, when I met Jill. She wanted me to see inside her mind, so I’d know she was telling the truth. But you hijacked me and brought me here.”

  “Oh, right. Yes, perfectly true. Only, of course that was really just a dry run, so to speak, so you’d see who poor Ellie really was, all along. So that next time you found yourself here, you’d know what to do.” She paused, then added quietly, “You do know, don’t you?”

  Chris nodded. “You want me to stop her.”

  “I want you to keep me from getting killed. That’s not so very much to ask, is it?” Slight pause, then, “After all we’ve meant to each other.”

  Meaning what, exactly? “You want me to change history,” he said uncomfortably. “That’s not allowed, is it?”

  SatNav laughed. “Absolutely not. Strictly forbidden. Unbreakable rule. Prime bloody directive. The thing is, though, if you change history you make it so the new version’s what’s always been, so nobody can ever possibly know.” She made a noise; on balance it could be described as a giggle, but only in the way a wolf counts as a dog. “It happens practically every day, but unless they actually catch you at it, there’s nothing they can do. Fait accompli. So you don’t need to worry about getting in trouble. And you know it’s the right thing to do. Well, don’t you?”

  “Do I?”

  “Well, of course you do, silly. Haven’t you been listening? Your friend murdered me, in cold blood, while you sat in a cubicle with the door shut and did nothing. It’s your duty. Also,” she added, her voice changing dramatically, “you do like me, don’t you? Just a tiny bit?”

  That was very slightly more than Chris could take. He swung round, nearly bashing his nose against the cubicle wall, and looked at her.

  She was beautiful; looking back afterwards, he could remember the stunning impact of her face, the most perfectly beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Details, though—nose shape, cheekbone profile, chin geometry, even the colour of her hair eluded him completely, for some reason.

  She frowned. “I thought I told you not to do that,” she said.

  “Sorry,” he said. “And of course I like you. Sometimes I think you’re the only one who’s ever understood me. But—”

  She laid a hand on his forearm; it was light and thrilling, but he felt rather cold. “Save me,” she said, “and then we can be together. Just you and me, always.”

  Chris’s head was throbbing, as bad as a nine-pin ts-and-a-curry hangover though mercifully without the flatulence. “But the demons,” he heard his voice say, “the civil war. If I change history, there won’t be a truce. That’d be rather selfish, wouldn’t it?”

  “Chris, they’re demons. They’re inherently evil entities from another dimension who batten onto human pain and misery, not stray bloody kittens. Pull yourself together and get a bloody grip, for pity’s sake.”

  She had a point there. Demons. Poor Mr Newsome. And if he saved SatNav, Jill wouldn’t grow up to be the dissident ringleader, and the demons would have no call to come after him, and poor Mr Newsome wouldn’t have his neck broken like a drinks straw. And, come to that, what about the ducks? If his actions saved just one duck life, surely it’d be worthwhile. Quite so, he told himself, and it’d be doing the right thing, and you-and-me-together-always was really nothing to do with it at all. Really. Honest. Was it?

  “You can cut that out right now,” Chris said in a high but firm voice. “I’ll tell you what we meant to each other. You’re the little voice that used to tell me how to get from Stourbridge to Bromsgrove without going through Kidderminster, and I’m the poor sod you think you can twist round your little finger with a sexy voice and a dab of glamour. And you know what? It’s not enough. Screw you, SatNav, I’m not doing it. Not,” he added quietly, “unless you tell me the truth.”

  There was a long silence, and maybe her face flickered just a bit, as though she was in need of tracking. “Oh,” she said. “That old thing.”

  “Well?”

  She sighed, and the flickering stopped. “Actually,” she said, “I have. Mostly, anyway. Look, I’m sorry about the attempted-seduction rubbish, I underestimated you and I apologise. I thought you’d be a pushover, what with your girlfriend leaving you and everything, and, well, I’m in a hurry, I thought it’d be quicker than convincing you by weight of rational argument. My mistake. Please forgive me.”

  Ever take a step onto the moral high ground only to find that someone’s moved it without you noticing? It can be a bit jarring. “All right,” Chris said gruffly, “that’s fine, forget it. Just be straight with me. Is all that stuff about demons and the Fey really true? Did Jill kill you just because of what you are?”

  She nodded. “Same way you’d squash a spider just for being there. Though you wouldn’t,” she added. “You’d try and pick it up in a bit of tissue paper and chuck it out the window. You’d probably break two of its legs and crush its guts to squidge in the process, but at least you’d try. Even though you’re petrified of spiders,” she said, “which is dumb but really quite sweet. That’s a uniquely human quality, you know, sweetness. Kind of an alloy of goodness and stupidity; we don’t do it, and neither do the demons.” She shook her lovely head, and her hair (golden? auburn? straight? wavy? curled?) floated round her shoulders. “Just do it, Chris, and then you’ll feel much better, I promise. Trust me. After all, when have I ever lied to you?”

  He groaned aloud. All these people who’d never lied to him. “I can’t,” he said. “I mean, be practical. She’s a demon, right? If I try and stop her, she’ll rip my head off.”

  “Hardly.” Sly grin. “She’s sweet on you. Oh come on, hadn’t you realised? Talking of which,” she added softly, “there’s other ways history will change, if you save my life. Not that you’d allow selfish considerations to affect your judgement, but I just thought I’d mention it, i
n passing.”

  It was a bit like the time he’d pushed open a door on top of which some merry fellow had balanced a large dish of cold gravy.” What, you mean Jill and—?” Chris blinked, as though the thought was dripping down his fringe into his eyes. “But she never fancied me, ever.”

  “Humans,” SatNav sighed. “How you ever manage to reproduce with all your weird hang-ups beats me. Of course she did, only you were too shy and stupid to realise. Of course, I don’t know if it’d have worked out between you if she hadn’t killed me and changed the course of her life for ever. From what I’ve seen of you, probably not, if you’re so dumb that you never realised how she felt But you never know. Anyway, like I said, it’s a side issue. And she’s a demon, don’t forget. And we both know how you feel about them.”

  The hell with that, Chris thought, as his whole life flashed in front of his eyes; not the second-best, make-do-and-muddle-through life he’d settled for all these years, but the marvellous alternative he could, should have had: Jill and Chris, the perfect couple, so much in common and their differences perfectly complementary, two people forming one ideal fusion. Well, maybe not that good, but a damn sight better than the other one. And consider Karen, a tiny voice added in the back of his mind; a fair old mess you made of her life, while you were at it, and you owe it to her to put it right now you’ve got the chance—

  He looked at SatNav. “Who are you?” he said.

  She grinned. “I like to think of myself as a dream come true,” she; replied. “Or I should have been. But I never got the chance.” Chris could hear voices. They were coming. He could make out their conversation, or else he was remembering it, the way you can anticipate the actors’ words when you’ve seen the film often enough.

  “Get in, quick,” she hissed. “Come on.”

  He thought: it can’t ever be wrong to save a life, can it? “Hang on, though,” he said. “What if you’re wrong? What if she doesn’t fancy me, or not enough to stop her doing what she came this side of the line to do? I could get hurt.”

  “It won’t come to that. Get back in the fucking cubicle.”

  Well, that he could agree to, at least. He darted back in and locked the door.

  Changing history, Chris thought.

  Saving a life, he thought.

  Why the hell me? he thought.

  Someone, he noticed, had written KH4CP in biro, just above the toilet-roll holder. KH, he thought. Karen Hitchins. Oh shit.

  I’ve tried to get him to notice me, he heard Karen’s voice saying, but it’s like I’m just not there.

  You’re overdoing it, he heard Jill reply, you’re trying too hard. Just be yourself, act natural, otherwise he’ll just think you’re strange.

  “I think he’s got his eye on that new cow.”

  “What, Ellie? Hel-lo, I don’t think so.”

  “He was looking at her in RE.”

  “He’s got to look somewhere.”

  “Yes, but I saw how he was looking at her. I hate her, she’s horrible.”

  Any second now, and the door of the next cubicle would open, and SatNav would come out and Jill would raise the— Raise the—

  He heard the bolt grind as it moved back. Now or never. He threw open the door, nearly colliding with SatNav as he lurched out and found himself face to face with—

  “Chris?” Karen said. “What are you doing—?”

  Jill was staring at him; disbelief, then anger. Then she looked past him and her eyes locked onto SatNav, like a targeting system. I can’t do this, Chris thought, then changed his mind and took a long step forward, placing himself between SatNav and Jill.

  “Get out of the way, human,” Jill said.

  “Sorry,” he heard himself say. “Look, Jill, I can—”

  “Get out of the way”

  It occurred to him that SatNav might have been the one who’d misjudged the nature of Jill’s feelings towards him. Right now they weren’t difficult to interpret, and they didn’t involve spring flowers, bluebirds or little pink hearts. Time to run away, urged his better part of valour, but his legs didn’t seem to want to move.

  “Jill,” Karen was saying, “what’s going on, why are you—?” Jill wasn’t listening. She had that perfect stillness that raises the hairs on the back of your neck, the stillness before the spring.

  Oh, Chris thought. Oh well.

  —And then, somehow, his hand was in his jacket pocket, his fingers closing round the tape-measure; he was pulling it out, fumbling the blade out of the casing (and, while he was doing it, he remembered the last time he’d been here, seeing a tape-measure in Jill’s hand as she stood over a headless trunk; his tape-measure—

  He remembered now, a memory of something that was just about to happen, remembered by someone from a different, altered future. She’d been about to jump him. He’d drawn the pantacopt. She’d knocked it out of his hand, pushed him out of the way, used the pantacopt to slice off SatNav’s head. A memory of what was about to happen, what had happened— What had happened—

  Jill was looking at the pantacopt. Clearly she knew what it was. Possibly a moment’s doubt, maybe even fear, but quickly swept away by resolve. Chris thought: if I can remember it, then it must have happened this way. That must be where she got the murder weapon from; she took it from me. But I didn’t have a pantacopt when I was fifteen. Therefore, I must’ve been here before, with it in my pocket. This must be— I must already have done it, he thought, changed history. I must’ve been here before and done it, and then forgotten, or been made to forget. So everything’s already screwed up, all my fault, because—

  He heard SatNav in his mind. Quite right, she said. A demon can’t kill a Fey with just claws and teeth. She needs a weapon. You provided it. It’s all your fault. Now do what you have to do, and we can all go home.

  Jill was looking at the blade of the tape-measure, thinking, making calculations. Chris kept perfectly still, not breathing.

  “Jill,” Karen said.

  Then Jill made her move. It was beautifully elegant, pure predator, the crouch and the leap all one fluid action. She leapt at him, just as he remembered her doing, and he remembered how she crashed into his left shoulder, spinning him round so she could disarm him with a lazy swat of her hand, grab the pantacopt, shove him aside and strike the killing blow. Perfectly clear in his mind, as though it had just happened. So, naturally, he took a step to the right.

  Jill sailed past him, missing him by a clear inch, crashed into the cubicle door, smashed it into Western-bar-room-brawl splinters, nutted herself on the toilet, swore loudly, jumped up, crouched and got ready to leap again. Chris couldn’t remember any of that. He was on his own.

  “Jill,” Karen was yelling, “for God’s sake, what are you doing?“

  Hold still, said the voice in his head. Just hold still.

  Jill leapt. Chris held still; not through conscious choice, but because she moved too fast for him to react. As she came flying through the air at him, he thought: she wants to watch out, the blade’s in the way, she could do herself an injury.

  She did.

  She hit the blade, and it cut her in two, starting with her nose, neatly bisected lengthways, right the way through to her spine. Half a body shot past him on either side. Chris heard the thump as the two halves hit the floor. His mind went completely blank as his hands let go of the tape-measure and it clattered on they concrete floor.

  “There,” SatNav said. “Now that wasn’t difficult, was it?”

  Karen was staring at him, her mouth perfectly round, no sound coming out. This is silly, Chris thought, what I just saw can’t really have happened, I can’t have cut Jill in two down the middle. And then he thought, I’m going to be in so much trouble.

  “Quick.” Karen had grabbed his arm, she was dragging him into a cubicle, shoving the door shut on him, as though trying to close an overstuffed suitcase. “Just get in there and stay quiet,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “It was self-defence, I saw it.” She stooped down, gra
bbed the tape-measure, folded it away without even looking at the blade and shoved it in her pocket. “It’s all right,” she said, “I’ll get rid of it, just stay in there and remember, you never came out, you didn’t see anything. Just leave it all to me and it’ll be fine.”

  Chris tried to speak, but Karen shut the door in his face. The last thing he saw as the door swung towards him was the pair of pretty but strictly-forbidden-by-the-dress-code earrings Karen was wearing. Enamelled silver, in the shape of hummingbirds.

  Not so long ago, if asked what travelling by tube meant, Chris would have said it was what commuters did in London. Not any more. He emerged from his own toilet like a dolphin leaping after a flying fish, landed awkwardly on all fours, and banged his head on the edge of the bath.

  His bathroom, more or less as he’d left it. That came as a relief; he couldn’t have changed history too much if his bathroom was the same. And, since it had been painted and decorated by Karen, that implied that the change hadn’t edited her out of his life. He got onto his hands and knees, and saw a pair of rights drying on the radiator. History had changed.

  He grinned. Either she was back or she’d never left at all; It didn’t particularly matter, just as long as she was here, in residence. The surge of relief took his breath away, and he thought: so I really did love her all along, without knowing it. Just as well, really. Splendid.