Nearly half a minute passed in silence as the two men stared each other out.
“Ok,” said Walt. “Ok. It’s true, it’s no coincidence.” Seb released Walt’s wrist and sat back.
“But I didn’t find you,” said Walt.
“What do you mean?” said Seb.
“You found me.”
Walt stood up. “Look, Seb,” he said. “I don’t expect you to trust me right off the bat. But you’re here for the same reason I walked into Sid’s store that night. I didn’t come looking for you. I was on this train before you were, right?
Seb frowned. He had no idea how long he had been on the train, or where he’d been before he boarded. Was ‘boarded’ even the right word?
“You found me,” repeated Walt “You need me. But I knew you were coming. Look, it’s late, we’re both tired. Sleep on it.”
Seb laughed. “I don’t feel like I’ll ever sleep again.”
“Take my word for it,” said Walt, “you’ll sleep like a dead man tonight. Sorry,” he said, as Seb winced, “bad choice of words. I’m getting off at Albuquerque. You?”
Seb remembered the tickets. “Me too,” he said.
“Let me give you a ride tomorrow. There’s something I want to show you. And I have a proposition.”
Seb hesitated. Walt put out his hand. His face was serious and sincere. Seb sighed, reached out and shook the older man’s hand.
“You’re going to find it next to impossible to find anyone who understands anything about what you’re going through. And friends can be few and far between when you’ve discovered Manna, believe me. Go to bed. We’ll talk in Albuquerque.” He turned and walked out of the dining car.
Seb looked after him for a long moment. Manna?
Getting on the superliner bed fully clothed, he stretched out and sighed. He had never been a good sleeper. And after the craziest day of his life, he was convinced he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.
Three seconds after his head touched the pillow, Seb slipped into the deepest sleep he had ever experienced. And—for the first time in as long as he could remember—there were no dreams.
14
The day was well established by the time Seb opened his eyes, sunlight flickering through the flimsy curtains. Never a morning person, he marveled at the energy he felt as he sprang out of bed and went into the bathroom. He didn’t need a shower to make him feel invigorated, but took one anyway. He rubbed his chin. Still no stubble. Shame, he had always thought he looked better with a couple days’ growth. He grabbed a brush and looked up at the mirror again, immediately dropping the brush, stepping backward, slipping and nearly ending up back in the shower.
Five seconds earlier he had been clean shaven. Now he had stubble.
This is going to take some getting used to.
The dining car was half full, the breakfast crowd having thinned out. Seb ordered a coffee and watched the landscape roll by the window. Halfway through his second cup, Walt slid into the seat opposite.
“Sleep ok?” said Walt.
“Unbelievably well,” said Seb.
“Told ya,” said Walt. “So what do you say? Going to give me a chance?”
Seb shrugged. “I don’t know who you are,” he said. “And I’m not stupid. But you were right about friends. I can’t even get in touch with the ones I have. I know they’ll be watched. Whoever is after me seems to have the FBI at his disposal. I can’t risk contacting M-, er, anyone. My options are limited and I do want to find out what’s happening to me. I guess I could come with you today.”
“Love that enthusiasm,” said Walt.
“No offense,” said Seb, “but I don’t trust you. Yet.”
“You’d be crazy if you did,” said Walt, smiling.
It was just before midday when the Southwest Chief slowed to a stop in Albuquerque. Seb stepped off the train, a slim case in his hand. The case contained a wash bag and his clothes. He had felt terrible cramming such a beautiful suit in there, but when he took it out to refold it, he realized it looked freshly pressed. As did the shirt. All the clothes appeared to be recently laundered, too. Seb had a fun couple minutes screwing the suit and shirt up as much as he could - even stamping on them for a while, then shaking them to find they looked brand new again.
When he climbed down from the train, Walt was on the platform, handing his suitcase to a short, dark-haired man. As Seb approached, Walt turned.
“This is Steve, my assistant, accountant, chauffeur, concierge. Steve, this is Seb.”
“Good to meet you,”said Seb, shaking his hand. Steve eyed him impassively.
“Steve doesn’t speak,” said Walt, “but he listens real good.”
They followed Steve to Walt’s car, a black Chrysler 300. Steve held open the door and they both got out of the heat into the cool, air-conditioned leather interior.
“This thing makes me feel like a gangster,” said Walt. As the car pulled away, he pushed a button and thick security glass slid up between them and Steve. Seb was a little surprised at Walt’s choice of vehicle, but said nothing.
“There’s little Steve doesn’t know about me,” said Walt. “He knows I’m a successful magician performing mostly for Hollywood royalty and CEOs, and an even more successful gambler who cheats to maintain his luxurious lifestyle.” Walt laughed. “And the rest of it he pretends he doesn’t see. Now, settle back and enjoy the ride.”
“Where are we going?” said Seb.
“Mind if I keep that a secret a little longer?” said Walt. “I think you’re gonna like it. It’s going to take a few hours to get there and I promised to finish my story.” He reached forward and pulled a couple of bottles of water from a small fridge in the center of the car. Seb accepted one gratefully.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Seb.
Walt sank back into the soft leather, his memories coming alive for him as he continued his story.
“Sid Bernbaum was the most powerful man in Chicago. It only took me a couple weeks to realize that. He understood that information is power, and whoever held the most information ultimately held the most power. He knew the Chicago underworld better than anyone. He also knew everything that was going on in the police department, the mayor’s office: every level of local government.”
“How?” said Seb.
“He spent the first week showing me what he’d set up. The florist store was the perfect cover for his real business. And no one ever suspected a thing. How could they? It was beyond their comprehension. Sid pretty much implemented a covert bugging operation before electronic bugs were invented. He started by sending flowers to the wives or girlfriends of the Bosses. Once a bouquet was in the house, the Manna would infiltrate any other plants in the vicinity. Then, unless the plants died or were thrown out, he could listen in on any conversation in town.”
“Manna?” said Seb. “Magic?”
Walt nodded. “It’s been called many things over the hundreds—possibly thousands—of years since it was first used. Magic is one. Still gets called that occasionally, although it’s usually Magick with a capital M and a k at the end. The Power Of The Gods, or The Great Power was popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but faded out of use. The Craft still remains fairly popular. I—and many others—use the word ‘Manna’. We don’t know what it is, but using a word associated with an ancient mystery reminds us of our ignorance and our quest to know more.”
“We? How many of you are there?”
“A handful. Possibly no more than a few hundred on this continent. Thousands worldwide. With varying degrees of talent, both shut-eyes and open-eyes.”
“Whoah,” said Seb, “you’re going to have to explain some of this.”
“Open-eyes use Manna knowingly, shut-eyes have abilities but don’t know it. Sometimes they survive car wrecks or become aware of events that have happened thousands of miles away. Most call them miracles and leave it at that. Some explore their talent. Then one of the groups or the Order pick them up.”
Seb frowned and Walt laughed.
“I’m sorry,” said Walt, “I know it’s a lot to take in and I’m not going to be able to explain every last detail now. Just let me fill you in a little more about my background, then we’ll see where we are.”
Seb nodded and motioned Walt to continue.
“Sid showed me how his network of living plants and flowers gave him power over everyone of significance in Chicago. After secretly listening to them for months, he would contact them individually, hinting he had information about their enemies. Politicians, newspaper moguls, mobsters, they would treat him to lunch in the swankiest restaurants, be liberal with the champagne, try bribing Sid with money and women. He’d reveal enough to convince them he could bring down their rivals. Then, while their greedy minds plotted the downfall of their enemies, he would quietly tell them something he knew concerning them personally. He had enough dirt on each of them to ruin them forever. Then the conversation would take a different turn, the tone would get ugly. Threats would be made. But Sid was way ahead of them. He told them he had documents in lawyers’ safes all over the country, ready to be sent to the press on his death. After they’d finished ranting, most asked what would happen if he died of natural causes. I used to enjoy that bit. He told them the press got the documents no matter how he died, so it was in their interests to keep him healthy.”
Walt chuckled at the memory. “Sid used to laugh about this all the time. Because if he ever got even a cold, he’d be checked into a private clinic and treated like a king. Funny thing was, he was just messing with them. I don’t think he ever really got sick - not while he was using Manna. ”
Walt looked up at Seb, who raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, it keeps you healthy, too, as long as you keep it topped up. Manna users need to replenish their supply regularly. For some, this means every day, for others every few weeks or even a couple months. Sid could go six months at a stretch, he was famous for it. Don’t ask - it’ll be easier to show you.
“Sid didn’t ask for much in return for keeping his knowledge to himself. He lived above his shop rent-free, someone else picked up his tab at local restaurants and stores, his bank account was always healthy although I never saw him deposit more than a few dollars. He didn’t do it for the money, he did it because he could influence those with influence. He was a realist like me, he knew he couldn’t clean up the city, but he also tried to keep innocents out of harm’s way. He made sure no Boss ever got too powerful. In his own quiet way, he ran Chicago. “
“How did he teach you?” said Seb. “I mean, what did you do, day to day?”
“You have to be trained by an adept to learn to control Manna,” said Walt. “Women are supposed to make the best adepts, but a higher proportion of women join the Order, and their teaching is very formal. They have a system, and no one outside the Order can use it as it involves a collective…ah, it’s complicated. It’s enough to know that training outside the Order is more hit-and-miss, but the most powerful users have been developed our way. Sid said I’d need patience and discipline, neither of which were my favorite word.
“ ‘Just sit with me, boy,’ he said. ‘Sit, don’t ask questions and be aware of your mind. It will fight you. It will do everything it can to stop you simply being here, simply sitting, simply letting pure awareness be present.’ ”
Seb realized with a start that Walt was describing Contemplation perfectly. Contemplation, belying its name, was anything but relaxing. It involved constant vigilance, awake-ness, being entirely centered in the moment.
“Sid was an incredibly patient man,” continued Walt. “Which was lucky, because I would have driven anyone else crazy. I threw myself into the training for the first few weeks. Every day, I’d spend hours sitting with Sid while he used Manna. But he might as well have been asleep for all the sense I could make of it. I couldn’t sit still for five minutes. My mind would race. I’d start thinking about my life before I met Sid. It had been dangerous, sure, but at least I was out there doing something, not sitting silently next to the oldest Jew in Chicago. I’d get frustrated about life drifting away, all my opportunities going down the plughole. Fortunately, I was as stubborn as they come. Every time I thought about leaving, I’d remember the alternative—a brief encounter with a professional strangler—and I’d sit my ass back down. And slowly, real slowly, I started to feel something. It’s different for everyone. For me, it’s like a buzz—a vibration—I feel it in my face, behind my eyes, in my cheekbones. And one day, while we were sitting there, I stretched out with this buzzing sensation.”
Walt stopped talking. Seb turned toward him and noticed immediately that the area near Walt had darkened again. A silence had suddenly captured the space around them. It felt like a physical presence, reality becoming a movie still. A newspaper tucked behind the seat in front of Walt slid slowly out from the pouch, falling between them. It opened and the pages moved although there was no breeze, just the subtle waft of the AC. As the newspaper reached the center pages, four sheets peeled away and floated upwards, folding as they did so. Seb watched corners furl and edges tuck under, the movements crisp and precise. Within a few seconds, the first two sheets had become perfect simulacra of tropical fish, swimming lazily around the car. The effect was so startling that Seb took a breath to convince himself they weren’t underwater.
The other two sheets came together and rapidly took on the outline of a hungry predator stalking its prey. A perfect scale model of a great white shark began circling the oblivious fish. It was so realistic that Seb flinched when it flicked its powerful tail and passed close to his face. It was as if someone had shrunk a real shark and wrapped it in the LA Times before releasing it into the wild. One of the fish was near the door handle on Walt’s side of the Chrysler. The shark lunged with incredible speed, its mouth opening, then shaking violently from side to side as it ripped the fish apart. Confetti drifted around the car.
Seb realized he was seeing more than just the darkening effect he had noticed the previous night. He could make out smoky dark tendrils coming from Walt’s head and body connecting with the paper shark and the surviving fish. Walt looked over at him.
“You feel it, don’t you?”
Seb nodded.
“Reach out,” said Walt, “try to take over the shark.”
“How?” said Seb.
“I have no idea,” said Walt, “only you know how.”
“Well, thanks,” muttered Seb, but he turned back to the shark just the same, which was now hovering close to the thick glass screen between them and Steve. He let go of his thoughts and just watched the shark, carefully letting mental distractions slide away from his awareness. Nothing happened. Disappointed, he slumped back in his seat. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sensation when he escaped from Westlake, the way he’d seemed to become one with the door, the car. He opened his eyes again, feeling an echo of the fear he’d felt on that highway the day before. He felt a surge of…something…head away from him toward the shark.
With a noise like an explosion, the glass screen shattered, tiny lumps of safety glass falling to the floor of the car. Steve swerved violently and the Chrysler left the road. The rear of the car twitched violently before jackknifing. Seb lurched against Walt as the car side-swiped a utility pole before coming to rest in a cloud of dust about twenty feet from the highway, its rear suspension causing it to sag drunkenly in the dirt.
Steve was out of the car first and opened the door next to Seb to let them out. They walked around the vehicle and assessed the damage, Walt holding a silk handkerchief to his face as the dust began to settle.
“You ok?” said Seb. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.” Then his mouth dropped open. The car he was looking at wasn’t a Chrysler 300. It was a Lincoln Continental, but bigger, sleeker, and more luxurious than any he had ever seen. And it was white, not black.
“What the-?”
Walt smiled. “I’ll explain in a moment,” he said, his f
ingers tracing a huge dent in the side of the car where the impact had buckled the metal. He shut his eyes and laid a hand flat on the side of the car. For a moment the air seemed to darken and Seb thought the metal began rippling under Walt’s hand. Then the older man frowned, shrugged and stood up again.
“Best thing you can do is get straight back on the horse,” he said. “Look, son, I’ll be honest with you, what you just did in the car would have been beyond my capabilities after a year with Sid. You need to learn some control before you hurt yourself. Or someone else.”
Seb looked at the crumpled metal and the shattered glass still covering the back seat. He remembered tapping into a sense of fear the moment before the glass had exploded.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “it’ll be a while before I try anything like that again.”
Walt turned toward him and shook his head.
“You don’t get away that easy,” he said. “We need this car back on the road and I haven’t paid a mechanic’s bill in a long, long time.”
“What?” said Seb, “you want me to…?” He gestured at the car and Walt nodded.
“No,” said Seb. “I’m more likely to make things worse.”
Walt shrugged.
“It’s a write-off,” he said. “How much worse can you make it?”
Seb grimaced. “You really want to find out?” he said.
Walt said nothing, just moved away from the damaged car. Seb took his place by the crushed wing and put his hand on to the damaged metal.
“Ok, then,” he said, “it’s your dime.”
He closed his eyes, thinking back to the sensation he had felt when his body seemed to merge with the car door in LA. Nothing happened. He tried to remember his exact mental state…that was easy enough: he’d been terrified. So maybe fear was the key. His mind flashed back to the fear he’d felt when the two soldiers had raised their weapons the day before. There was a bang. He opened his eyes. The Lincoln was fifteen feet away, tracks in the dust where the tires had scraped across the rough surface. Seb looked round. Walt and Steve took a step back. He walked up to the car and knelt next to the dented metal again. He closed his eyes.
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 11