A Touch of Lightning

by Kit Fortier

  A Touch of Lightning

  A Beyond the Pale Novel

  by Kit Fortier

  Kindle Direct Publishing ©2019

  Contents

  A Touch of Lightning

  A Beyond the Pale Novel

  by Kit Fortier

  1. Stitched Up

  2. Broken Conductors

  3. Time Out

  4. Fox in the Woods

  5. Silver and Salt

  6. The Scent of Soil and Pine

  7. A Circle in Water and Stone

  8. The Man-Fox in the Woods

  9. Meet the Parent

  10. Spinthíres

  11. Foxfire

  12. Dead Birds

  13. Circling the Tower

  14. The Grand Connection

  15. San Diego, 2011

  16. Testing

  17. Recovery

  18. Animal

  19. Birds of Prey

  20. On the Road

  21. Serenity

  22. Conditions for a Strike

  23. On the Road, part 2

  24. Unexpected

  25. Let's Build a Fort

  26. The Void

  27. Reunion

  28. Graduation Day

  29. Aftermath

  Copyright

  About the Author

  From thence by many colours into the East ascend,

  Then shall the Moon be full appearing by day light,

  Then is the purgatory passed, and her course at an end,

  There is the uprising of the Sun appearing bright,

  There is Summer after Spring, and day after night

  --George Ripley

  1. Stitched Up

  Sheets of rain fell at an angle, adding sting to an already chilly night. The hissing roar of water colliding with earth lulled the sleepy town quiet. Moorcroft, Wyoming was a quaint place to stop by or stay in for a family trip to the nearby national monument. It had at least one visitor hiking up to its doorstep. A sign flashing "Diner" was all he needed to convince him to stop in from the deluge.

  The grizzled man set his large pack down on the floor next to his stool. He took a deep breath, pulled his beanie off his short hair, and swept his brow with his sleeve. The sound of rain popped gently on the roof of the diner. Flashes of lightning and soft thunder a few seconds later lit the darkened forest sky.

  A young waitress approached with a small empty mug and a full pot of coffee. She gave him a once-over: clean face, if unshaven. Despite his well-worn traveling clothes, he was neater than most of the bums passing through. His overcoat screamed military. Not the recent variety, with digital patterns and such. But she was more at ease with the idea that he might simply be a veteran passing through town.

  "Mornin', sir," the waitress said. "My name's Cindi, with an I. Have a seat," she said cheerfully, indicating a seat at the diner counter. "Bit of a rough night for backpackin' it, isn't it?" she asked, pouring the man a hot cup of coffee.

  The man smiled. "It's not that bad. Someone told me it'd clear up before the end of the day. Got pinned down by hail the last place I set up camp for a while. Had to hole up in a hotel."

  The waitress gave the drifter a head-tilt. "I don't know if you wanna camp out in the rain here. I know we got a few nice places in town you might want to check into. You stickin' around Moorcroft for a while?"

  "For a little bit. Gotta make my way to the Devils Tower by the next full moon."

  A titter of laughter bubbled from the waitress. "Why? Is it some kind of werewolf thing?"

  The drifter's smile faded slightly. It was still there, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No. More of a spiritual thing."

  Cindi saw the look on the man's face. She reddened, embarrassed. Maybe he was one of those new-age spiritualists or a Native American. He had tan skin, to be sure, but his eyes were clear blue--almost silver. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

  "It's alright. I'm sure it's been a long night for you."

  The waitress sighed in relief as she glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. "You're right," she said. "My shift ends in about an hour. What can I get you?"

  The man pulled his gloves off his hands and stared at the laminated menu in front of him. Typical diner fare, all on one large page. "Club sandwich and a side of hash browns. And some water, please."

  With a quick nod, the waitress left the drifter alone. He looked around the brightly lit diner. A pair of EMTs worked through breakfast for dinner. A couple of young night owls who sat side by side poured over a pair of laptops with several empty cups of coffee around them.

  An itch crawled across the skin of his right forearm. The man paid it no heed. He couldn't pull back the sleeves on his BDU parka if he tried. While it was mildly annoying, the itch was beneath bandages, which were underneath a long sleeve shirt. It was just easier to let things be. Instead, he tugged gently on a heavy silver chain around his wrist. It distracted from the itch and reminded him what he was doing so far from home. It was about a week since the last time he performed the ritual. It was the same ritual he had performed at least once a month for the past seven years. Without thinking, he thumbed at a deep tear on his parka. The man gave it a quick glance before he saw movement at the corner of his eye.

  The waitress appeared before the man, balancing a plate in one hand and another full pot of coffee in the other.

  "Got a name, mister? I can call ahead to some of the nearby hotels and put in a word for ya. They give discounts to customers we send their way."

  "Barton. Jake Barton."

  "Thank you, Barton Jake Barton," Cindi said with a wink. "Did you need anything else? Ketchup?"

  Jake looked down at the plate she set in front of him. "Two glasses of water, if you don't mind."

  "No problem, hon. Here, lemme flip that placemat over--it's a map of the town. We tend to get a lot of tourists here on the way up to the Tower. That star is us--and there's some hotels marked off. Any preferences?"

  Jake shook his head. "Closest one will do."

  "Ooh, that's Martin's lodge. His son runs the place. Tidy and clean," she said.

  Jake smiled. "Couldn't ask for more." With that smile, the waitress smiled back. He watched as she picked up a phone near the register. While he wasn't adept at reading lips, he watched Cindi mouth his name just as he said it to her a moment before. He grinned. He watched her as she replaced the phone and disappeared into the kitchen area.

  After a minute of rifling through his pack, Jake pulled out a tablet. He pulled up a map of the local area with one hand, absentmindedly working through the hash browns on his plate with the other.

  He was near the end of his mission. So much of his own blood spilled over so much land. He was thankful he avoided prying eyes. Seven years, nearly a hundred full moons. Once he returned to the Devil's Tower, he would complete the circuit, and his son…

  Ben wouldn't understand. The family Jake left him with didn't know anything. To them, Jake had gone into therapy somewhere back in southern California. Outside of occasional emails and wire transfers of the brunt of his veteran's benefit money, the Samuelses made it a point not to ask. They didn't want to upset Jake's boy further.

  The hike to Devils Tower would only take a few hours. But, as with Sedona, and with Mount Shasta, he had to hike a circle around the landmark. This punctuated his journey with several stops, which were pared down versions of the rituals that he performed when the moon was full. The problem at hand was that he had already walked a circle twice around the Tower, which meant he had time to spare, and the prospect of camping out for nearly three weeks looked less than ideal the more he thought about it.

  Jake looked down at his plate. The food was almost done, faster than he realized. He looked around, making sure
no one was near, that no one was watching. No cameras overhead. He unclasped the silver chain from his wrist off in a single practiced move. It was deceptively strong, with three beads of silver equidistant from each other when he clasped the chain back together.

  Silver, focus. Sulphur, dissolution. Mercury, congelation, sublimation. Salt, exaltation, multiplication, projection. Silver, focus. Silver, Sulphur, Mercury, Salt.

  Jake mentally repeated the litany of metals and minerals in his head as he made a circle of his chain. He placed the bracelet over the tear in his parka. Giving the diner another once over, Jake touched his forefinger to one of the beads, his little finger and his thumb to the other two. A subtle flash flared beneath his hand, and the tear sealed up, stitch by miniscule stitch. He quickly swept the chain up and replaced it around his wrist, and then he drained one of his two glasses of water. The tear had closed, leaving the parka sleeve whole--as if it had never been damaged to begin with.

  He'd repaired his clothes dozens of times before. It was easier than buying new clothes. He could even flash-dry his equipment with a little focus and a litany. It only took him minutes.

  One day, soon, it would only take moments.

  Jake hoped.

  Jake pulled out his wallet and fished out a twenty dollar bill and a ten, ready for the bill as Cindi with an I approached.

  "All done with that, handsome?" the waitress tittered.

  Jake smiled. Smiles didn't cost much. "That I am," he said, downing the other glass of water. Gently, he slid his payment forward. "There you go. For the food, and for the recommendation."

  The waitress took the money and rang up Jake's order. She came back with a couple of bills and a small fistful of change.

  Jake had put his beanie back on and shrugged his pack back over his shoulders. With a hand held up and a grin, he indicated the change and said, "Keep it." The waitress smiled back.

  "Come back soon," she said, pocketing the change.

  Jake tugged at the mended sleeve, happy to have it sealed up after he tore it on a jagged rock edge in the nearby woods. His sleeve beneath the parka was drenched, but that would be remedied soon enough when he got into a hotel room. Moments like that made Jake glad to know as much as he did about the science and art of Alchemy. With the right materials and the right words, there was little that Jake couldn't do. He could shear boulders in half. He could easily counterfeit small number bills into big number bills. He could boil water with his bracelet and a thought. Transfigurations were permanent, unless they were undone by another alchemist or destroyed altogether.

  Alchemists were rare in the North American continent. There were covens and arguments of mages. There were packs, sleuths, unkindnesses, earths, and ranges, convocations, and casts of altered beasts ranging from wolves to falcons. But Alchemists didn't even have enough numbers for a collective group name.

  Alchemy, like magic, had a few telltale signatures. Circles here, certain symbols there. However, a mage could be standing next to an alchemist and detect next to no sign or scent of Aether. Alchemists, on the other hand, could sense mages' otherworldly connections like forest creatures could sense imminent danger.

  Jake tried to save his transfigurations for his rituals and his work in nature. He vowed to use alchemy only if he truly needed it. But tonight, what he needed most was a room. Tonight, Jake needed genuine rest. He figured on three weeks' worth of renting a room, and he would pay for a late checkout if he had to.

  The rain hadn't abated. It poured hard-a loud hiss like the white noise of a radio between stations filled the air. The walk took less than ten minutes. An illuminated sign cut through the darkness, glaring in yellow. Relief simmered in Jake's chest.

  Jake stood to one side of the door leading into the front desk area. He shook off as much of the water that clung to him as he could before he entered. The young man behind the counter perked up. He had a massive textbook sprawled on the counter before him. A single, heavy lamp cast a torch-like glow around the room, though it still seemed unusually dark. The clerk glanced at the clock on the wall, then onto the new arrival. He stood as Jake approached the wraparound desk.

  "Mr. Barton?" the clerk asked.

  "That's me," Jake said. "Cindi with an I sent me."

  The red-head behind the counter chuckled softly. "Cindi gave me the head's up. Is it Barton Barton?" the clerk said, his eyebrows quirked, slight confusion, maybe amusement, on his face.

  "Jake Barton. Jake." Middle name, mother's maiden name. But the guy behind the counter didn't need to know that.

  "Right. Sorry about that. Cindi gets really flirty when her shift is almost over."

  Jake grinned a slight grin. "I'm guessing the pickings are slim here in Moorcroft."

  "Kinda sorta. Sometimes she stops by here and brings me coffee and stuff."

  "Nice of her."

  The young man chuckled. "I'm just happy for the company. Especially in the off season."

  Jake nodded. He took note of the nameplate on the young man's shirt.

  "Fox, is it?"

  The young man nodded. "Yep." He wiped his hands on his pants, meeting Jake's eyes before looking anywhere else but at him.

  "Kinda dark in here," Jake said.

  "Yeah-we've been having electrical problems. Almost all the plugs in this office are skippy at best. We can't run things that have too much pull in here and in a lot of the rooms. Lamp's okay, but the computers, well. That's why we use a laptop. I can charge it somewhere else. We have wi-fi, so that's something. There's a fridge in the back room, and a TV-but we haven't been able to use those things for about a month. Dad's been trying to get an electrician out here, but it's been a bit difficult. The town's electrician is a drunk, and he didn't do a great job the last time he came here. It's a good thing we're in the off-season." The clerk's eyes went wide. Jake could only assume nerves drove the guy to vomit small-talk all over the counter.

  Fox ran his fingers through his hair. Jake couldn't be sure if it was auburn or brown. He wanted to know. He huffed. "Sorry, that doesn't sound professional." Jake didn't mind. Speaking out of school was a minor offense, and it wasn't like Jake knew the alcoholic electrician. As Fox's arm returned to his side, Jake noticed a bandage wrap around his elbow.

  "Did you have blood drawn?" he asked. Fox looked startled for a moment as his hand went to the crook of his elbow.

  "Oh, yeah," the young man replied. "There was a blood drive bus out from Ellsworth making its way down to Casper. I gave when the bus stopped in town. Just forgot to take this thing off."

  Jake gave a small chuckle. "I'd forget, too."

  An awkward pause fell between them after Fox shucked the bandage. He glanced up, then met Jake's eyes briefly, before he became suddenly fascinated by the heavy lamp's base. Jake spoke again.

  "What kind of room have you got for me, Fox?" Jake asked, his slight grin still in place. He might have hit a lucky break. Not that he'd been really looking in the last few years on the road.

  "Oh, right."

  Fox sat down in his chair and rolled over to the computer on the other side of the counter. "How long will you be staying?"

  "Not sure. Any chance I could play it by ear?"

  "Sure. The usual rates are seventy dollars a night. We offer a few different rates depending on the season and the length of stay."

  Jake did a quick calculation. "How much for about two and a half?" he asked, leaning into the counter. He noticed Fox was actually working on a laptop next to the computer, which was off.

  "Well, we drop rates from seventy to fifty per night for a two-week period. I could charge you for three weeks, but I can always just refund you for the days you don't stay." Fox looked up from his laptop expectantly. Jake did the numbers in his head. He realized he had half of the necessary cash on him. He also didn't want to transmute any of the bills on his person to pay for the costs. He could sell off the gold he pulled from the ground in Sedona-but that would have to wait until the morning, when he could get to a jeweler's
store or a nearby gold exchange.

  An idea crossed Jake's mind. "That's about a thousand dollars. How much did your father pay that electrician to work on the hotel?"

  "A little over a grand, I think," Fox said.

  "If I can fix your problem, do you think you could write the room off for me?"

  Fox's eyes widened. Jake took in the green beneath the lamplight. He lowered his gaze to the man's mouth, to his neck. Strong neck. Likely Fox played some sport--not as big as a football player. Maybe baseball. Jake casually brought his gaze back up to Fox's eyes. A spark of recognition flared between the two of them.

  Uh-oh. Caught. Jake smiled even broader.

  "I think, Mr. Barton Jake Barton, we can work that out," Fox said, his face serious as he typed something into the laptop. Jake laughed, loudly, caught off guard by the repeated joke involving his name. The laugh startled Fox.

  "Sorry, that was stuck in my head," Fox mused as he typed.

  "It's alright. Cindi with an I was pretty amused, herself."

  "Is that a James Bond thing?"

  Jake cocked his head slightly. Fox saw the confusion.

  "You know, 'Bond, James Bond'," he said, chewing on the name "James" like one of the actors that played the role.

  Jake smiled. "I hadn't thought of it. It's a habit, giving people my last name."

  "You military?"

  "Air Force." Jake paused. "Medically discharged." It didn't hurt to tell others that tidbit. Most people never questioned it.

  Fox smiled for the first time in their conversation. "That'd be another discount, but you're getting the room for free." He started typing again. "There." Fox swiped a couple of key cards through a reader between the computer and the laptop. "I'll show you to your room. Nothing better to do," he said, stepping around the counter.

  "I don't want to take you from your homework," Jake said, acknowledging the textbook on the desk.

  "It's okay. It's not homework. I was reviewing old problems."

  Fox put a plastic placard on the counter. It read, "Call for Service", with a phone number printed on it in neat marker strokes. Jake noticed a service phone-slash-walkie-talkie tucked into a holster on Fox's belt. As the clerk passed by, Jake noticed the curve of Fox's backside. His khakis must have been painted onto the young guy's legs.