“What happened?” he asked.
The nurse opened her mouth to speak but then realized that Saul wasn’t talking to her. Surprised, she looked at Livvy. Diana turned around to look at her as well.
Oh gods, Livvy thought, as she looked at them. What could she say? Diana and Saul looked so tired and defeated, as though the hope that Mitch would survive was the only thing that had kept them going. She knew they wouldn’t understand the truth and that they didn’t want to hear that Mitch had not wanted to return.
“He was…already gone,” she barely managed to get out.
Diana nodded and turned back to look at Mitch, as did Saul. The nurse, however, was looking at Livvy, although she didn’t say anything. The second nurse came back into the room, probably wanting to unhook the monitors and start the paperwork, but she hesitated.
Saul looked at both the nurses.
“Could we just have some time alone please?”
“Of course,” said the first nurse. “I’ll check back.”
The nurses left, the first one eyeing Livvy again on her way out.
Saul reached for his wallet.
“Oh no,” said Livvy, as she wiped her eyes. She picked up her bag, and stowed the gear.
“No,” said Saul, removing some money. “We called you here.”
Livvy had already passed him on the way to the door before he realized what she was doing. He had to turn around to hold out the money.
“I can’t,” Livvy blurted out. “I’m…I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
Diana was still staring at Mitch. As Livvy opened the door, Saul let his hands fall to his sides.
“And I’m sorry for your loss,” Livvy whispered in a hoarse voice. “So sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BY THE TIME the second vodka was down, Livvy knew it wasn’t going to help. Really she’d known it from the beginning but she simply didn’t care. The bus ride home had been extra long, caught in rush hour traffic and a burst water main that forced a detour. As the second hour ticked by, she knew she wasn’t going to make it home by dark. She had remembered the punks in the alley. In fact, she had thought of little else when she wasn’t thinking of Mitch’s death.
At the bus stop, she had tried to find a group of people that were going in her direction but in minutes she was by herself. She had run the last two blocks, trying to look into every shadow all at once. It wasn’t until she’d heard the lock click, after she’d slammed the wrought iron gate closed, that she calmed down. Once she’d gotten home, she’d gone straight to the freezer. The bottle of mandarin vodka was in the back, behind the packages of frozen corn.
As she looked around the apartment, she realized how bleak and shabby it was. Everything in it had once been new. She had bought all of it, never once thinking that she’d never be able to afford furniture again. After several moves to cheaper and cheaper apartments, she’d abandoned most of it, piece by piece, as though it were being jettisoned off a plane with sputtering engines. What remained was banged up, scratched, and dirty.
She poured another shot and took it over to the sagging couch, sinking into the end and spilling a little. If I’d stayed in school, I’d be a doctor by now. She laughed out loud, snorting as she took a sip. Yep, a real doctor and not some freak shaman. She leaned her head back against the wall.
Not some freak shaman that gets beat up in their crappy neighborhood. Not some freak shaman who watches clients die. She rubbed at the lingering redness on her chest. Not some freak shaman who probably can’t work any more with the multiverse dominated by that monster. There was no way she’d make the rent next month, let alone get her mother’s ring back.
She thought of her mother then, and that last awful time together. Her vision blurred and she sniffed as the first teardrop rolled down her cheek. What a life, she thought, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. She took another sip. Better that her parents weren’t here to see what she’d become.
As she lowered the glass, she saw her bag on the card table. She stood up, wobbling, and went over to it. She set the glass down hard, opened the bag, and took out the goggles. I need a real job, with a real paycheck. What I don’t need is punks beating me up, clients who want to die, and no life.
“I’m done with this!” she slurred, as she threw the goggles at the front door.
As they crashed into it, she saw the batteries pop loose and scatter. Small pieces of plastic came down as well and disappeared into the ratty carpet. She poured another shot and downed it in one gulp. Although the couch was only a few steps away, she barely managed to flop onto it before the room started to spin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
IN THE CLEAR light of morning, her hangover felt like a vise on the sides of her head. As Livvy drank more water and took another couple of aspirin, she looked at the broken remains of her goggles on the floor.
Dumb, she thought. It’s not like I have another job. She took what remained of the vodka and poured it down the sink, running the water to take away the sickly smell. Finally, she went over to the door and started gingerly gathering up the pieces of the goggles. If the optics weren’t scratched, she might be able to do something with them.
She carefully laid out and separated the pieces on the anti-static grounding pad on the table. A few of the wires had pulled loose and the black plastic housing had cracked wide open about a third of the way around. Inside, she could see the small mirrors and lenses. She went to the closet and brought out a canvas tote bag. With no money to buy new goggles, she’d gotten pretty good at making repairs. The canvas bag had all the tools she’d need–soldering iron, magnifying glass, wires, and wire cutters. It also had the remains of her first pair of goggles.
Her phone chimed with a text message. It was Min, checking in. She texted back.
After arranging all of the pieces on the table, it looked like the chips on the boards weren’t damaged and that she’d probably have enough parts from the two pairs of goggles to put together one working version. She set up the magnifying glass on its snake neck and set to work with the jewelers’ screw drivers, taking apart the broken pair and then the spare pair, laying them both open in semi-circular halves held together by the small wires that went between them.
The aluminum foil that lined the interior of her goggles was her own customization. She had discovered that it was enough to prevent her static discharges from damaging the delicate electronic components. It was the reason that she had learned about the interior workings of the goggles in the first place.
As she worked, she thought about the types of jobs that she might qualify for. She could work in a hospital but she’d only be an orderly. If fact, she didn’t have the right credentials or degrees for any medical job that dealt with patients, despite her years of medical school.
She plugged in the soldering iron and took the small sponge from the holder over to the sink and got it wet. Squeezing out the extra water, she thought of the hospital last night and shuddered. The last place she wanted to work was a hospital.
How were other shamans managing to work, she wondered? Maybe SK would know. She sighed.
“Forget it,” she said out loud, returning to the table.
That was your old life, she told herself. For certain clients like Brad and his parents, she’d have to find someone to take her place. There’d be a transition period while they got used to a new shaman and she got used to not being a shaman. Maybe in a few months she’d be done with it, doing less and less shaman work and more of something else–whatever that might be. Lost in thought, she found herself still holding the sponge and staring down at the table.
With their wires splayed out and separated, the two goggle’s innards overlapped each other. Livvy stared down at the mess. It almost looked like the two sets were hooked together.
She put the sponge in the holder and took out the soldering iron, testing it on the sponge with a hiss and small wisp of smoke. It was hot enough. When the goggles were open, the foil lining
didn’t help to prevent damage. She clipped one end of an anti-static wrist strap to the grounding pad and slipped the elastic band over her hand. She organized the wires as best she could before she began. The wiring was fairly complex and it was possible to get confused and start unsoldering the wrong thing, especially with two pairs of goggles. It’d even be possible to start soldering the two together.
She was just about to touch the soldering iron to the contact on a small board she held with a pair of pliers when she stopped.
What would happen, she wondered, if I did connect the two pairs of goggles? Could two people see the same thing?
She set down the pliers and replaced the iron in its holder. She moved the magnifying glass out of the way for a clear view of the two goggles in their entirety.
“What if two shamans could see the same thing?” she whispered.
Would they be able to see each other?
She touched the one pair.
And if they could see each other…could they help each other?
She brought her hand back, feeling guilty for even thinking it. It was heresy.
Still…what if they could? She remembered the kachina and sat staring at the two pairs of goggles. The kachina had helped her.
If I could hook two together, why not more? What would happen if I could get twenty shamans together instead of two? Maybe something could be done about Tiamat.
Her mind started to visualize the wiring that would be necessary. The electronics were the easy part. Yes, the wiring was possible but she’d need a few more components than what she had here. Of course, she’d also need willing partners.
She thought of Min but put the thought aside. Min didn’t have the experience. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her to take a risk on something that had never been tried. She focused on the goggles again. Electronics and other shamans–there was only one place where she might be able to find both.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ALTHOUGH MAMACITA HAD said, “Mmm hmm,” Livvy distinctly heard “You want to do what?”
“I know it could work,” said Livvy, unable to keep from sounding excited.
“What would ever possess you, child?” said Mamacita, moving her giant feather duster over statues of Mary and Buddha. “You know it’s the unwritten rule.”
“I know, I know,” said Livvy, following her. “Shamans don’t know each other.”
“That’s right,” she said, nodding.
“But shamans do know each other and we all know it. You know it. SK knows it. Why don’t we just admit it and work together?”
Mamacita suddenly stopped between the overcrowded shelves and turned to her.
“Because there’s a danger, that’s why. Even the multiverse has its rules. Shamans who violate those rules take a risk–a mighty big risk.”
Livvy had never seen Mamacita so serious but she couldn’t stop now.
“It’s all a risk, isn’t it? Every trip to the multiverse. Now more than ever.”
Mamacita eyed Livvy over the top of her half-glasses and pursed her lips, studying her.
“Mmm hmm,” she intoned as she turned back to one of the shelves and continued dusting. In the silence that followed, small dust flurries drifted through the orange shafts of light over the brass candleholders.
“I’m not sure we’ll be working much anyway,” said Livvy, beginning to lose enthusiasm.
“Yes, I heard there’s trouble.”
“Big trouble,” said Livvy.
She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and followed Mamacita to the next aisle and looked down at the ground.
“Really big trouble.”
She watched Mamacita move her duster around crystal pyramids of various sizes and colors. Mamacita didn’t say anything.
“Trouble so big,” said Livvy quietly, “one shaman by themselves can’t do anything about it, maybe can’t survive.”
Mamacita stopped.
“What kind of talk is that?” she asked.
The cockatiel echoed, “What kind of talk is that?”
“I don’t know,” Livvy muttered.
It had seemed like such a good idea an hour ago. Maybe Mamacita was right.
“Well,” said Mamacita moving behind the counter and stowing the duster. “It’s not really for me to say, you know. I’m just the shopkeeper.”
“Just the shopkeeper,” echoed the cockatiel.
“Did you say you needed some parts?”
Livvy hesitated. If she were only going to repair the one set of goggles, she didn’t need anything and she could save the little bit of money that she had. If she were going to hook the goggles together, she’d need to get a few things. What would be the point though if she couldn’t find someone to help her?
“So, you don’t think there’s any point to seeing if I might not possibly be able to sort of…contact other shamans?” she asked.
Mamacita had the pulse of the shaman world, knew virtually all of them for at least a hundred miles around. She pursed her lips again.
“Well now, I didn’t say that, did I?”
“Really? You think there’s a chance?”
“Seriously honey,” Mamacita said, “No, I don’t think there’s a chance, but it’s not really for me to say.”
She brought down a small plastic tray of electronic parts from the shelf behind her and put it between them.
“It’s just–if you do try, don’t get your hopes up. The traditions, even though they’re old, they still apply.”
Mamacita picked a few parts out of the tray and set them on the counter.
“Now, I can’t put you in contact with other shamans,” she said, looking over her glasses. “And I’m not just saying I won’t. I’m saying I can’t. I don’t have their phone numbers or addresses. They come here, you see?”
Livvy nodded.
“But the one who can do that,” she said, emphasizing the word by placing the last of the parts on the counter. “Well, you already know him.”
SK, Livvy thought, but immediately shook her head. Of course she’d thought of him but she already knew what he would say. He’d never break with tradition and he wouldn’t approve of her trying it. His disapproval wasn’t something she wanted to risk–and not just because of the work he provided. He was the only person she trusted, the only person she could really talk to. She knew that he worked with lots of shamans but, even so, she thought maybe she sensed something more from him. She thought of him as a friend–her only other friend besides Min.
“Now don’t be so quick to say no,” said Mamacita, putting the tray away behind her. “There’s more to SK than you might think. He sees what’s happening, same as you.”
She turned back to the counter and paused. Then she picked up a stray pen near the register and put it into a coffee mug that was already stuffed with pens.
“And, it just so happens, he thinks pretty highly of you,” Mamacita said, without looking at her.
Really? Livvy thought. Me?
“Now you didn’t hear that here,” Mamacita intoned.
Livvy could have hugged her. Maybe SK would see it her way. Maybe things would turn around. Smiling, she started to take out her wallet.
“That’s all right, sweetie. You pay next time,” said Mamacita, putting the parts in a small paper bag.
This time, Livvy couldn’t help herself. Without thinking, she came around the end of the counter and, before Mamacita had seen her coming, Livvy hugged her.
“Oh!” said Mamacita, as a little spark jumped between them.
“Thank you, Mamacita,” Livvy said, hugging her fiercely.
Mamacita shook her head but hugged her in return and then patted her back.
“Don’t thank me, child,” she said quietly. “Don’t thank me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
STILL BUOYED FROM her visit with Mamacita and thinking about the next steps, Livvy didn’t see the front door to her apartment until she was nearly standing in front of it. Spray painted on the door was a
giant, red, inverted pentagram.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
She looked up and down the hallway but nobody was there. No evidence of any sort was on the floor or in the vicinity. She didn’t know how they’d done it but the shaman-haters had obviously figured out where she lived and they’d somehow gotten into the building.
It looked like the paint was still wet. If she hurried, she might be able to get some of it off before the landlord saw it. Checking over her shoulder, she unlocked the door and fetched some cleaning stuff.
Outside again, she looked up and down the hallway and then started to frantically wipe and scrub. The paint hadn’t dried yet and she managed to get some of it off with just the paper towels. When the paper towels stopped being effective, she switched to the cleanser.
Although she’d never get all the paint off, it looked like she was at least going to be able to hide the fact that a pentagram had been painted on the door.
“What happened?” said a voice from close behind her.
Startled, she let out small shriek. When she looked around, she saw the paramedic.
“Sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”
She took her hand away from her heart and realized that she’d been holding a cleaning pad there, with paint on it.
“Oh no,” she said, trying to wipe the paint off her shirt.
“Look what I’ve made you do,” he said, as he reached down for the paper towels.
He picked them up, ripped off a few sheets, and offered them to her.
“You’ve also got a little paint…”
He pointed to the corner of his own mouth. She took the paper towel he offered and quickly wiped at her face.
“Graffiti?” he asked.
“You could say that,” she said, as she continued to wipe, although what she really wanted to do was go inside and check her face in a mirror.
He looked around at the other doors and the walls in the hallway.
“Graffiti inside? That’s kind of unusual.” He looked back to her. “Anyway, I was in the neighborhood and I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Shaman, Healer, Heretic (Olivia Lawson Techno-Shaman) Page 13