Mytholumina

by Constantine, Storm

  As Julianne ate, she inspected the people sitting round the table. They seemed utterly normal, the sort of people who worked in supermarkets, petrol stations or insurance offices. One or two of them self-consciously used their Talents during the meal, with self-effacing grins, flicking glances at the statuesque Derek Valiant to see whether he’d noticed and approved. Consequently, condiments sets whizzed up and down the table, wine poured itself, entertainments were provided. The Tooth Fairy carefully removed all her teeth after the meat course and cleaned them individually with a napkin before replacing them.

  ‘Yuck!’ Julianne said. She herself felt no desire to exhibit her own ability, and certainly not to court the favour of Mr Valiant.

  Another person, whom Steven dubbed Present Arms!, grew an extra limb from his arm-pit, fringed by tentacles, and proceeded to tickle a coy, flouncy sort of woman further up the table, who cried black tears of joy in response.

  The newcomers were all given individual bedrooms, although, after dinner, the three of them congregated in Julianne’s room. None of them felt like joining the community downstairs to watch TV for the evening. All three confessed to feeling uneasy in the presence of the other paranormals. Perhaps this would pass.

  Julianne reflected what an odd group they were. In everyday life, their paths would never have crossed. Even if they had met, they would never have been compelled to forge friendships.

  ‘This is a bit like being in hospital, isn’t it?’ Steven said. He produced a large bottle of wine from his luggage and, in the manner of hotel guests consuming illicit liquor, they drank it from tooth glasses.

  Leslie, who had never been in hospital, shrugged.

  ‘A psychiatric hospital,’ Julianne agreed. ‘Surrounded by loonies. God, I just thought of something! Is it going to affect our own minds being cooped up with these creeps? It happens that way in mental homes, doesn’t it?’

  Steven grinned. ‘We shall just have to make sure, my dear, that it doesn’t.’

  Next morning, after breakfast, Emily Band escorted her charges to an orientation lecture, to be delivered by none other than Derek Valiant himself. The newcomers had been required to dress in the House uniform of tracksuit and training shoes, and Julianne felt quite ridiculous sitting there in the spacious auditorium, appearing as if she was about to go to an aerobics class. It was all unpleasantly institutional.

  Valiant wore his tracksuit top open to mid-chest to reveal a bush of manly hair, which Julianne thought lacked only a large medallion to complete his image. She cringed as this larger-than-life individual bounced around the podium, trying to instil them with a sense of team spirit. She had never been a person to visit holiday camps. Valiant clasped his hands and stared above their heads with moist eyes as he extolled the virtues of their country, ending his sentimental speech with the entreaty that they grasp their Talents in their hands and offer them up to the welfare of their fellow men and women.

  Julianne caught Steven’s eye; he was smiling tightly, and the smile was edged with distaste. ‘Do you suppose they have a bar in this place?’ she whispered.

  Valiant noticed her speaking. ‘You have a question, Ms Farr?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, withering beneath the lambent stare.

  ‘You are all possessed of a mighty destiny,’ Valiant said. ‘And it is vital you live up to it.’

  Emily Band nodded vigorously at the end of the row.

  ‘God, I hope so,’ Steven whispered back to Julianne, in response to her question.

  After the lecture, it was time for fitness classes. Julianne’s heart sank; she had expected as much. ‘I hate exercise,’ she told Steven.

  On the way to the gym, they were intercepted by an individual who, Emily explained, was practising his charisma. It was considered good manners to assist one’s colleagues at all times, so the four of them had to stand there while the man, dressed in a black cloak, postured before them.

  ‘Hello,’ Steven said, introducing himself. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I...’ said the man, flashing his eyes and raising his hands, ‘am Darkness!’

  Whereupon, he enveloped the surprised spectators in a net of utter blackness. Julianne winced. She could smell fly killer.

  ‘And I,’ came a voice beside her – Steven’s, ‘am Hallucinato, the Master of Pernicious Deceptions!’ Steven manifested light from his fingertips, and Darkness retreated with a harrowing hiss.

  ‘Kevin has yet to tone down the more flamboyant tendencies associated with his Talent,’ Emily Band explained, dryly. ‘Come along, straighten yourself up, Steven. Fun’s over.’

  The Physical Fitness instructor was disappointed by the newcomers. A few aerobic exercises caused virtual collapse. ‘You haven’t looked after yourselves, have you?’ the instructor said, in a hurt voice.

  ‘He’s taking it so personally,’ Steven whispered to Julianne. ‘Does he have a Talent, do you think? What Talent would a Physical Fitness teacher require? Hmm. I know! An ability to deceive the world he does, in fact, have a brain rather more advanced than that of a walnut. It works too, doesn’t it? I mean, there’s real intelligence in those eyes!’

  Julianne smothered a laugh.

  ‘Being fit can save your life in times of crisis,’ the instructor said, directing an owlish glance at Steven. ‘Are you feeling alright now, Leslie? Perhaps we can get on with ten minutes of jogging on the spot. We can’t stand around. I have another class in an hour.’

  Julianne groaned and Leslie looked as if she was about to descend into hysterical sobbing. An hour? They would be dead before then!

  ‘Relax, girls,’ Steven said, slinging a casual, reptilian arm around each female shoulder. ‘Just relax. Sit back and enjoy the show.’

  Both Emily Band and the instructor paid attention to the illusion Steven had constructed in front of them; that of three newcomers diligently being put through their paces. In reality, they had sat down at the back of the gym to do as Steven suggested; relax and watch the show.

  ‘Hey, I’m really glad you came here at the same time as me,’ Julianne said to him.

  He winked. ‘Early days yet, my love.’

  Steven was summoned to the office of Derek Valiant later that day. It had to be because of something important, as he was plucked from one of Emily Band’s proficiency sessions, where she encouraged the fledging paranormals to stretch their powers.

  Valiant had a thick, pale cream jumper slung around his neck, the arms tied insouciantly over his chest. He paced the room, while Steven sat demurely in front of his desk. Steven examined the walls, which were covered in framed photographs of Valiant smiling at the camera with wilting paranormals in track-suits clutched under his arms.

  ‘You’ve had... problems, haven’t you?’ Valiant said.

  ‘No more than anyone else,’ Steven lied.

  ‘I’ve read the report.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Valiant nodded. ‘Yes. I am aware of how your Talent came to light.’

  ‘Well, I had expected that.’

  ‘And, as such, realise you might need special treatment, gentle handling. I do sympathise with your condition, Steven.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course. That is why I’m in charge of this establishment. I’m here to help. But I do expect co-operation. It will cause difficulties if you play up, Steven. High spirits are all very well, and there’ll be plenty of time for those, but you must put a curb on them during your classes.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.’

  Derek Valiant sighed, sauntered behind his desk and flicked a switch. Monitor screens were unveiled as sections of the wall glided aside. On one screen, Steven could see a class in the gym, all on their backs, riding imaginary bicycles; on another, he could see Julianne and Leslie with Emily Band, Leslie just in the middle of de-materialising. He raised his eyebrows and gave Derek Valiant a look of enquiry.

  ‘So?’

  Derek Valiant blinked slowly. ‘My talent, Mr Rider, is that
no other paranormal’s ability has an effect on me. Now, do you see why I am the ideal candidate for the position I hold?’

  Steven nodded, his expression thoughtful. He felt embarrassed, and Steven Rider hated feeling embarrassed. ‘It seems you’ve caught me out.’

  ‘Completely. You have a powerful Talent, Steven. Wise up, grow up, and don’t abuse it. OK?’

  Steven raised his hands. ‘Your worries may rest, Mr Valiant.’

  ‘I’m glad. Now, run along to your class. Oh, and one more thing. Now you’ve settled in, I think you and the girls should socialise with the rest of us tonight, don’t you?’

  ‘See you later, then.’

  Steven was so furious that, on the way back to Emily Band’s class, he could not contain the illusion he’d turned into a roaring, blood-soaked werewolf. It projected exactly how he was feeling. Other trainees and unfortunate members of the domestic staff who came across him cringed from his path. How dare that pompous, coiffured imbecile humiliate him! He would have to pay!

  Both Julianne and Leslie could tell Steven was seriously upset when he returned to the class, but there was no opportunity to speak to him about it in private until the end of the day. Steven went to Julianne’s room as she was getting changed for dinner and began to tell her what had happened.

  ‘Shut up!’ she said.

  He looked surprised. ‘What? Well, thanks a lot for the support!’

  ‘Be sensible, this place is crawling with telepaths!’

  ‘I see your point...’ For a moment, he looked utterly defeated. ‘This is a prison, isn’t it? I don’t care who hears, it’s true. We’re prisoners.’

  ‘It’s only for eight weeks, Steven!’

  ‘Yeah, and what will we be at the end of that time? Have you thought of that? What will walk out of here? Zombies? Robots?’

  ‘I think you’re over-dramatising the situation. You just hate authority. We’ll simply have to play it their way, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Julianne replied, busying herself with the application of lipstick in her mirror and trying to ignore the reflection of the dejected figure sitting on the bed behind her. ‘Emily gave us a dressing down over the gym episode. I realised then we were wasting our time trying to be anarchic. There are too many paranorms here. Even our thoughts aren’t our own.’

  Julianne hated having to speak to Steven like this, but in the light of what Emily had told her that afternoon, she realised the DPR were paying special attention to him. She would not be doing him a favour by encouraging him to misbehave. She had also realised her first impression of him had been almost correct. He had devilish charm, of course, but she knew now his fooling around concealed something rather more dangerous. Emily hadn’t wanted to tell her and Leslie about it, the information was highly confidential, but it was the bond of womanhood that had forced her to speak. Steven Rider destroyed women. He hated them. He was not to be trusted.

  ‘You look really nice,’ he said.

  She steeled herself and held out a hand. ‘Well, escort me to dinner, then.’

  Steven was surprised to find he was quite hurt by the way Julianne distanced herself from him that evening, dragging the malleable Leslie with her. He had thought they were on the same wavelength. True, Leslie had directed a couple of mournful glances at him, but had bonelessly allowed Julianne to lead her into a boisterous group of paranorms in the TV room. Steven followed them, somewhat wistfully, although it was clear his company was not required. So Ms Farr wanted to be a good girl, did she? He couldn’t summon the energy to be angry about it. It was all too pointless. His vague depression was made more tangible when a furtive Kevin Darkness had sidled up to him and brayed in a soft voice how impressed he had been with the earlier defeat he had suffered at Steven’s hands.

  ‘Go away,’ Steven answered in a toneless voice. ‘You are physically repellent and conversationally coma-inducing.’

  Darkness had drifted away as a mortified black cloud. It momentarily extinguished the light in every soul in the room. Steven noticed this, for he was an observant person and had long been able to see into the core of people’s hearts. For the rest of the evening, he essayed one or two covert experiments. It lifted his spirits considerably.

  Julianne herself felt a little guilty about shunning Steven, but Emily had been quite emphatic about him. ‘Between you and me, girls, he doesn’t really belong here. He’s trouble. Mr Valiant tried to argue against his placement at Tintern House, but was overruled. He knew there’d be difficulties.’

  Still mulling these words over in her mind as she readied herself for sleep, Julianne thought to herself, Well, here I am. This is it. Make the most of it. Head down. No trouble. Get home. She climbed into bed and turned off the light. Goodnight, Steven.

  She was woken into darkness by two cold hands on her wrists. Instinctively, she directed her Talent at her assailant, but it was like fighting a mist. ‘Leslie? she said. ‘Leslie! What are you doing?’

  The room filled with a dull blue glow and there was Leslie hovering above her, phantom face inches from her own. She was a nightmare succubus, all floating, sparkling hair and funeral night gown. Her incorporeal fingers bit like the kiss of frost into Julianne’s crawling skin. She shook her ghost’s head and the hair floated on the air like ferny weed beneath water. She did not, or could not, speak. Just shook her head.

  And lifted.

  Julianne let out a feeble cry, as she was drawn, bodily from the bed. Her flesh tingled as if a thousand minute sparks dusted her skin. Then her whole body went numb. Her lips were frozen shut; she could make no sound at all. Leslie’s phantom robe swirled around her like a ragged cloud. She was enveloped by the presence of Leslie; at one with presence of Leslie. And then the air was midnight cold against her flesh. She shivered inside her thin nightclothes. Where am I? Far below, the dark roof of Tintern House surveyed the thin beams of light thrown out on to the gravel drive from long windows. Julianne could see her own car, spot-lighted. Leslie?

  ‘The only way,’ Leslie replied. ‘The only way. They cannot hear us up here.’

  ‘Why?’ Julianne asked, breaking into a hysterical giggle. She was floating effortlessly in Leslie’s Talented embrace. It was exhilarating and deliciously scary too.

  Leslie manifested a chill, spectral wind. It signified displeasure. ‘They lied,’ she said. ‘They lied to us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘About Steven. It was lies. I know.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Why would they do that?’

  Leslie hissed meaningfully. ‘Because they are afraid of him.’

  ‘Then maybe we should be, too.’

  ‘No,’ Leslie sighed. ‘No.’

  ‘Look, I really think we should go back. I don’t care about Steven Rider… Leslie, I want to go back’

  ‘You are back.’ Leslie replied. ‘You never left.’

  Julianne wiggled her toes experimentally. They felt real enough. ‘You are more Talented than they think, aren’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Steven showed me how,’ Leslie replied.

  On her way to breakfast, Julianne marched into Steven’s room without knocking. She pulled back the covers on his bed and hit him across the head with her open hand. He screamed and covered his head with his arms.

  ‘You bastard!’ Julianne said. ‘What have you done?’ She hit him again. ‘Come on, tell me!’

  Steven cowered away from her female rage. He knew how devastating that could be and also the pointlessness of illusion-spinning when faced with such a creature. Normally, the only action he took with furious women was swift retreat. He scrabbled into a sitting position.

  ‘Come on, Steven, out with it. What did you do to Leslie?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  Julianne raised her hand menacingly.

  ‘Honestly! I just – well – fulfilled a little dream she has, that’s all. I didn’t touch her.’

  ‘She told you what Em
ily Band said, of course.’

  He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’d really like to hear you deny that accusation, Steven. I really would.’

  ‘It’s exaggerated. These people are paranoid.’

  Julianne narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m beginning to learn something here. There is more to you than illusions. Much more.’

  Steven scratched the back of his neck. ‘Well, there’s something I’ve only recently discovered, as it happens. Perhaps all that group therapy brought it out, I don’t know.’ He smiled tentatively. ‘I was going to tell you about it today.’

  ‘In unforgettable fashion, I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t be a bitch. I’ve been thinking. About this set-up. It’s not the right way to train paranormals.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Want to know what is? Want to know the future, Ms Farr?’

  Julianne sighed and sat down on the bed, intrigued in spite of herself. ‘Astound me,’ she said. ‘Please.’

  ‘Some people say that reality is an illusion,’ he began.

  Julianne shrugged and folded her arms.

  ‘Illusion is my Talent, therefore, I alter reality. Perhaps even create reality.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Julianne replied. ‘For example, if you made people think you had a gun in your hand, and shot them, no bullet would actually enter their skin. It couldn’t kill them.’

  Steven shook his head. ‘Don’t be naive. If they believed they had been shot, they might well manifest an injury. It’s the power of the mind.’

  ‘You’ve tried it, then.’

  ‘Not exactly. But I discovered something by accident.’ He leaned towards Julianne earnestly. ‘Tell me, how much do you want to go back to your metal-tube executive life, how much really?’

  Julianne didn’t like the sound of that question. ‘Very much so. I love my job; I have a great amount of responsibility.’

  ‘Where everyone now knows you’re paranormal...’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Steven?’

  He leaned back among his pillows, arms behind his head. ‘What I’m saying is, all those organizational skills you have, your excellent business head – wouldn’t they be just as useful in another bureaucratic set-up?’