Evil Waking

by Michael La Ronn

  I tilted my head at Kathy, trying to tip off Niecy.

  Seeing Kathy, Niecy cursed silently and tried to tiptoe up the stairwell.

  “Is that Niecy?” Kathy asked.

  Niecy cursed quietly again.

  “Hi, Kathy,” she said in her low, sultry voice.

  I wanted to laugh, but I was glad for the company.

  “Niecy, Kathy was just telling me about her revelation,” I said as Niecy came out of the stairwell.

  “And what’s that?” Niecy asked.

  Kathy started talking.

  I dropped the bundle of mail. I skirted around the floor, picking up everything, looking desperately for the letter.

  After a minute, I found it.

  I opened the envelope. Inside was a handwritten letter that was so well-written that it looked printed. Before my eyes could glance at the first line, Kathy grabbed me.

  “I want to show you that problem with your pipes,” she said. “I saw a YouTube video that will help you.”

  “When did we start talking about pipes?” I asked. “I’m lost.”

  “Then you weren’t listening,” Kathy said, her face going long. “Do you want me to start again? Because I can—”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Niecy said. “Please don’t start from the beginning.”

  Behind Kathy’s back, Niecy mouthed to me, “Will you just follow her so she can leave?”

  I wanted to sigh, but I smiled at Kathy.

  “Okay,” I said. “But after that, Kathy, I’m gonna need to decompress. I’ve had a long day and I’m in a stressful place right now, okay?”

  Niecy gave me a concerned look.

  I tossed the bundle of mail on the shop counter and followed Kathy downstairs into the kitchen.

  Thirty minutes later, I found myself nursing a glass of Prosecco at my kitchen table in the basement, listening to Kathy talk about French bulldogs.

  “Arthur doesn’t like them, but I think they’re adorable.”

  Niecy was at the table, on her phone, chiming in with pet phrases every once in a while.

  “Mmm hmm. All right. That’s crazy.”

  “Can you conjure up a pic of one for me so I can show Aisha?” Kathy asked.

  The comment jolted Niecy out of her dating app.

  “I can’t conjure up animals,” Niecy said.

  “That would be really weird,” Kathy said. “I said, can you conjure up a photo of one?”

  Niecy waved her hand. A photograph of an adorable French bulldog appeared in Kathy’s hand.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “We could use a conjurer in our house,” Kathy said. “When our pipes burst, it would have been so nice to fix the pipe with the swipe of a hand.”

  “These powers aren’t what people think they are,” Niecy said.

  Niecy was a conjurer. She could create, synthesize, and materialize any item with a simple gesture. She was good to have around the house when things broke, that was for sure. But I wished she could make Kathy disappear right now.

  The backdoor opened and Darius jogged downstairs.

  “Sup, people,” he said.

  “Hey, D,” Kathy said.

  “Crazy Kathy, how you doin’?” he asked, grinning widely. “Overstaying your welcome again?”

  He was joking, but not joking.

  “We were just chatting,” Kathy said. “If I start from the beginning, I will be here all night.”

  Darius grabbed a bag of Hot Fries from the pantry.

  “Yeah, well, we all know you talk too much,” he said.

  “D!” I said.

  Darius shrugged. “Don’t get mad at a brother for telling the truth. You know we love you, Kathy.”

  Kathy laughed and pointed a finger at him, clucking her tongue.

  “It’s all good,” she said. “I should probably go anyway. I want to start writing my dreams down. I think it will help you guys with your interpretations.”

  “Naw, probably not,” Darius said. “But we’ll read them for sure.”

  I wanted to punch Darius and hug him at the same time. Sure, I didn’t want Kathy here, either, but…he really didn't want her here.

  “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Kathy said. “Hope you feel better, Aisha.”

  “A’ight, Kathy,” Darius said. He gave her a high-five as she ran upstairs. We listened quietly as she walked through the lobby and shut the door behind her, the bells over the door jangling briefly.

  We all sighed with relief.

  “You’re welcome,” Darius said, plopping down at the kitchen table.

  “D, you shouldn't do that,” I said. “She’s brought us a lot of clients.”

  “Yeah, word of mouth in its worst form,” he said, munching his Hot Fries. “I gotta do it to her every time she pulls that scam on you. You have that glossy-ass look in your eyes and you're not even listening to her anyway. Why lead her on?”

  “It's decorum,” I said. “And I'm happy that you got her out of here. You didn't have to be a dick about it, though.”

  “I may be a dick, but I'm an effective dick,” Darius said.

  “I for one am grateful for your act of dicky-ness,” Niecy said. “That girl won't quit. Damn.”

  Darius scooted closer to get a look at her phone.

  “Who we lookin’ at today?” he asked.

  Niecy pulled her phone away. I caught a glimpse of a muscular tattooed black man in a tank top lifting his shirt up, lips in a snarl.

  “That dude has tats for days,” Darius said. “You sure you want to talk to him? Looks like trouble.”

  “I'm just looking,” Niecy said. Then she let out a boisterous laugh. “It wouldn't be but a temporary love thing anyway.”

  “How about you try a permanent love thing instead?” Darius said. “Might work out better for you. Less couch crashing that way.”

  Time out.

  Let's talk about my cousin, Niecy.

  She's my aunt Janice’s daughter. We grew up together. She always got teased for her size (she was overweight), but as she got older, people left her alone when she manifested her power. Actually, they took advantage of her.

  She's a conjurer, and that makes her special. Like I said, she can conjure up any material she wants. Broken window? She can conjure up a new one. Fancy a replica of a nice lamp you saw in the store? She can conjure up something pretty similar. She's a good person to have around when you need something. The only things she couldn't conjure were people (because that would be creepy), money (because it’s illegal), and spirits.

  Niecy also couldn't conjure love.

  She had a knack for finding really bad guys. She had an even greater knack for moving in with them. She was between boyfriends at the moment, which was probably a good thing because her ex went to jail for robbing a charm store.

  When she showed up on my porch a few weeks ago with nothing but a duffel bag and a bag of Wizmo’s Fried Chicken, I knew she'd be staying with us for a while.

  Dating was always the center of Niecy’s life, and she was a night owl, which meant our schedules were compatible.

  But I did not like hearing about her dates. At all.

  “Where's Destiny?” Niecy asked. “We were supposed to go shopping tonight.”

  “Coffee with some Lakeway girl,” Darius said. “Wanted to talked to Destiny about a sorority.”

  “Well, she better hurry up,” Niecy said. “The sale at Garbo ends at eleven. I want to see what they got.”

  “Whatchu gon’ shop with?” I asked. “You ain't got no money.”

  Niecy pulled out a roll of bills.

  “I got enough to take the bus downtown,” she said. “And ain't nobody gonna stop me either.”

  I snatched the bills from her.

  “Uhh, how about you pay the one who’s providing food and shelter for you first?” I said, counting the bills. “This don't even cover the last week, girl.”

  “I'm working on it,” Niecy said, snatching the money back. “I found a construction jo
b that starts tomorrow. All I gotta do is snap my fingers, and BAM—drywall is done. Couple hundred bucks for showing up and flashing these here sweet wrists.”

  She tucked the bills into her bra.

  “I gotcha, cuz,” she said. “Don't worry about me. Let's talk about you.”

  I pursed my lips at her.

  “You were all kind of tangled up when Kathy came in,” she said. “What's eatin’ you?”

  I sighed.

  Fortunately, I hadn't even thought about getting attacked in the time that Kathy was here. I was grateful, but not so grateful to talk about it now.

  “I got jumped,” I said.

  Darius choked.

  “By who?” he asked.

  “Don't know,” I said. “I was taking a shortcut and this guy appeared of nowhere.”

  Darius scowled. “What did he do?”

  “Tried to attack me, but I pepper sprayed him,” I said. “He apparently was a dream mage, because he told me that I brought disgrace to the profession.”

  “What did he look like?” Darius asked.

  “I didn't get a good look,” I said. “But I'm okay. I'm just shaken, that's all.”

  Darius cursed under his breath. “I should have been with you.”

  “Sounds like this guy had it in for you,” Niecy said. “Maybe we should call the police.”

  “I just want to forget it,” I said.

  “What if it happens again?” Niecy asked.

  I tapped my self-defense charm.

  “I'll be ready,” I said.

  “No,” Darius said. “Because next time, he'll be smarter. Look: you don't leave the house without one of us from now on.”

  “I can support that,” I said.

  Niecy grinned. “So how about we scoot down to the mall so I can get some mental images and conjure up some hot clothes for us?”

  “Not tonight,” I said.

  “The mailer said it was tonight only,” Niecy said.

  Mail.

  The letter I had almost forgot.

  I raced upstairs into the lobby. Outside, it was dark. A lone car passed through the street. A few pedestrians in jackets and scarves walked down the sidewalk.

  I grabbed the bundle of mail on the table and returned downstairs, giving Darius his envelopes.

  “What's that there?” he asked, eyeing the half-opened envelope from the Royal Society.

  “No idea,” I said, unfolding the letter.

  I read it.

  And as I read it, my night went from kind of scary to a complete dumpster fire.

  6

  Dear Miss Aisha Robinson:

  Congratulations on your recent successes!

  As a citizen of Kemiston, I for one am grateful that you saved the city.

  I am also happy to see a young dream mage with so much potential.

  However, I have some serious concerns with the nature of your business, Dream Readers, LLC—concerns that will have social, professional, political, economic, and ethical consequences if you do not address the complaints in this letter in a timely manner.

  I heard through my network of informants that you will be doing a photo shoot for KemCity Magazine. What an opportunity and a shame for you! It is the breaking point in my rage, and I will not let you continue in your foolish elevation of our profession.

  My name is James Lee Balthus (call me Jim). I am the president of the Royal Society of Dream Mages (RSDM). The society is a coalition of dream mages just like you whose goal is to bring honor to our profession and ensure that dream mages are treated fairly and exercise clout in our society.

  The dream mage heritage stretches all the way back to ancient European civilization, where the first dream mages used their powers to rule over peasants and farmers.

  We work to protect this heritage.

  We also empower burgeoning dream mages with the tools and resources to be successful at their craft. We sponsor summits and excursions at exotic locations all across the world.

  We also believe in giving back to the community, a belief that I am certain you share, Miss Robinson.

  That is why I was astounded to read about your business practices and the irresponsible abuse of power that you wield, Miss Robinson.

  You must understand, Miss Robinson, that you belong to the world’s most exclusive club of magical beings. One should not simply flaunt their powers as a way to make money. That is not what RSDM stands for, and I speak for all of our members unanimously in saying that you have elevated our profession into the city spotlight in a way that is not flattering or appreciated.

  The Royal Society of Dream Mages officially decries your actions on the following counts:

  1. You attempt to glamorize and romanticize the profession through media appearances, acting as if you are the only dream mage in existence.

  2. You are not registered with the state. Dream mages should declare themselves to city and state officials so that their presence is known.

  3. Your dream reading scheme is creative, but we have serious doubts about your promotional promises to help people “solve their problems through dreams.” Your very presence in a dream indicates manipulation. Therefore, it is doubtful that you can remain objective.

  4. If you can remain objective, you are at best no more than a fraudulent psychic in your interpretations.

  5. The use of an EEG machine during dream readings by an unlicensed technician constitutes the unauthorized practice of medicine. From photos, your machine looks outdated, which presents a danger of bodily harm to your clients, as we sincerely doubt that you are maintaining it properly.

  6. You do not have clients’ written consent to enter their dreams, which is problematic because there are no limitations on what you can do inside their minds. That is a privacy concern.

  7. You do not protect your clients’ privacy. One of our observers noticed several binders sitting on a table in plain sight. Protection of your clients’ minds should be your primary focus. It is not.

  These counts taken together paint a different picture than the media is painting of you, Miss Robinson.

  It paints the picture of a fraud.

  It paints the picture of a woman who thinks that ethics and laws don't apply to her.

  I do not want to believe this. At best, I hope you are ignorant of your ways.

  We at RSDM appeal to your (seemingly good) nature.

  However, we have learned that this is sometimes asking too much.

  That is why I have authored an article about you that will be published in the Kemiston Globe tomorrow morning.

  You have one hour from the receipt of this letter to begin fixing the problems laid out in our allegations. Should you comply, I will have the article destroyed.

  If you do not comply and state your intent to adhere to RSDM’s best practices, I will print the article, which I assure you will be extremely damaging to your business and everything you hold dear.

  And then I will destroy you.

  Miss Robinson, your actions require a severe and swift response.

  But know that RSDM is forgiving.

  Should you comply with all of our conditions and restore yourself to good standing, call to confirm at 888-888-8888. RSDM would be happy to extend exclusive membership to you at a reduced rate of thirty-four thousand dollars annually. I would love to discuss membership with you at a later date.

  I hope you will do the right thing, Miss Robinson.

  Consider this letter to be the ultimate threat if you do not.

  Ever yours,

  Jim L. Balthus

  7

  The letter glowed purple, with orbs of light swirling around my hands.

  I was shaking.

  From fear.

  From anger.

  The purple light gathered in front of my face, swelling into a loud pop. A timer appeared in the air, counting down from sixty minutes.

  “That's a read receipt charm,” Niecy said. “Whoever sent that to you just got notification that you read the
letter.”

  I didn't even know what to say.

  “What's wrong, cuz?” Darius asked.

  I stumbled back and sat in my chair.

  Darius grabbed the letter and read it, his eyes widening.

  “Can you believe this shit?” he asked. “Who the hell does this guy think he is?”

  “Sounds like he’s serious,” Niecy said.

  “He sounds like a blowhard,” Darius said. “He can suck my left nut.”

  “Obviously he's hell-bent on releasing this article,” I said. “This is going to create some problems.”

  Darius was visibly upset. Almost more than me.

  “This is all kinds of racist,” he said. “If you had been a white dream mage, I guarantee you this dude would have been knocking at the door trying to get you to join for free.”

  Was this guy a racist?

  I didn't know and didn't care.

  He was an asshole, though.

  I pulled out my phone and googled the Royal Society of Dream Mages and found a website.

  Looked like some sort of non-profit, with groups upon groups of white people standing in a room, smiling. There wasn't a single person of color among their ranks.

  I read the mission statement, which was exactly what Jim had written: We also empower burgeoning dream mages with the tools and resources to be successful at their craft. We sponsor summits and excursions at exotic locations all across the world.

  And then I saw a page called Meet Jim.

  I clicked on it.

  Jim Balthus was a middle-aged man with slightly graying brown hair, hazel eyes, and yellowing teeth. He wore a button-down Oxford and looked like the corporate type. He had a crescent half-smile and looked aggressive. Type A personality who was used to getting his way. I despised him on sight.

  “I can tell you what we’re not gonna do,” I said. “Respond to his allegations.”

  Upstairs, the bells above the front door jingled as it opened. Destiny walked downstairs.

  “Helloooooo,” she said, hanging up her coat on a coat rack by the back door. “What'd I miss?”

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I'm sensing some negative energy,” she said, grinning. “Darius, it's probably your fault.”

  We didn't say anything.