by T. A. Pratt
She waved her free hand. It was an argument she’d heard before. “So? It just takes a combination of skill and a whole lot of practice. I mean, you can’t give a random guy on the street a scalpel and expect him to perform brain surgery successfully, but we don’t say brain surgeons are magical, even though there are some people who could never do that job successfully, no matter how much they practiced. Some people are born with perfect pitch, and that’s not something you can learn, but we don’t say it’s ‘magical.’ The stuff I do, that people like me do…it’s a way of changing the world. A way of messing with the root commands of the universe. We call it sorcery because that’s a useful catchall term. There’s a lot of it we don’t understand ourselves. Some of us consort with gods and demons, but if you’d rather call them extra-dimensional aliens, you’re welcome to. It’s not any more or less accurate. And so what if some of the acts we perform seem dependent on the will of the magician or some inborn capability?”
Ted actually took a step away from her. He was remarkably adaptable—he didn’t even seem freaked out by the lack of a floor under his feet. “Is it really that simple? This sorcery is just aspects of the natural world that most people don’t experience?”
“If it happens, it’s part of the natural world, Ted. There’s nothing in the universe that isn’t natural. We say ‘supernatural,’ sure, but that’s not exactly what we mean. Think of it like light. There’s a visible spectrum that people can see. But there’s light at both ends of the spectrum that we can’t see naturally. That doesn’t mean the infrared and ultraviolet parts of the spectrum are unnatural. Humans are pretty stupid, Ted. We have a nasty tendency to assume our own limitations are somehow the limits of the universe. That’s one of the first prejudices sorcerers have to overcome.”
“Could I be a sorcerer?” Ted said.
Marla shrugged. “There are a couple things I could give you that pretty much anybody could use. The same way you can use a TV without understanding how it works. As for giving you real power, who knows? We just met a few days ago. Some people are never going to be world-class athletes, no matter how hard they train, and some people who have the potential to be world-class just don’t have the will. I don’t know if you do. Maybe.” She snapped her fingers again, and they were, abruptly, back on the roof, back in the cold. Ted stumbled, even though they hadn’t actually moved, and she caught his arm to keep him from falling into the snow. “C’mon, Ted. You still need to make sure there’s some food for our guests, right?”
Ted stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Yes. I…yes. It’s going to take me a while to get used to all this.”
“As long as getting used to it doesn’t stop you from getting your work done, take your time.” Marla thought he was handling it pretty well so far. The magic-as-science angle comforted some people. Marla figured it was about half bullshit, herself—there were some things about magic that just seemed too flat-out weird for that kind of rationalization—but there was no reason to hit Ted with that kind of confusing distinction. She’d ease him into things.
As they went back downstairs, he said, “So, what…voodoo? Does that work? Kabalistic magic? Fortunetelling? Telekinesis? Clairvoyance? Necromancy?”
“All of it,” Marla said. “Everything works…if you do it right. But it’s really, really hard to do any of it right. Most people specialize. My associate Hamil is a master of sympathetic magic. There’s a guy named Gregor who’s good at seeing the future—and before you get started on free will and shit like that, it’s more a way of collapsing probability waves and seeing what’s most likely, or what the only possible outcome of a given course of action is, you know? It’s about seeing possible futures, but if you narrow the parameters enough, some of those possibilities become the next best thing to certainties. He’s richer than god. He’s got a gift for real estate speculation and the futures market.”
“What’s your specialty?” he said.
“I specialize in beating the crap out of people, actually. I do a little of this, a little of that. I’ve never been interested in choosing a niche. I get bored too easily. A lot of people think I’m an ineffectual dilettante. Some of them even go on thinking that until I show them how effective I can be. I believe in adaptability, Ted. Sure, if I go head to head with some sorcerer in their chosen specialty, they can beat me, but I have a lot more tricks up my sleeves than any of them do. If I ever need really high-level specialization, I just hire somebody to do it for me. Easy.”
“I see. And what’s Rondeau’s specialty?”
Marla hesitated. It was, perhaps, a bit early in Ted’s magical education to explain that Rondeau was actually a free-floating parasitic psychic entity of unknown origin, which had wrested control of his current body from the previous occupant when said occupant was only eight years old. “Rondeau doesn’t have a specialty. He’s not a sorcerer. He knows a few tricks, but he doesn’t have the skill or the will to do much more. Still, he’s one of the most valuable guys in my organization, loyal and flexible and trustworthy. You should see the shit he can do with a butterfly knife, too. Anyway, come on, I’ll show you the special conference room.”
She led him downstairs. “What do you know about the history of Felport, Ted?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
“You know how it got its name?”
“Wasn’t there an early settlement that was lost, and rumors that it was a haunted place?”
“Yep,” Marla said. “It was ‘the fell port,’ meaning ‘fell’ as in ‘dire, sinister, evil,’ you know? A little settlement was lost, you’re right, just a trading post, but whatever nasty thing killed all those people disappeared or went underground or something when more people settled here.” They made it all the way downstairs, to the dance floor, and Marla took Ted down a short corridor, past the bathrooms, to what looked like a locked utility closet. She began sorting through her keys. It was a magically variable lock, and the correct key changed every day. “But Felport kept its reputation as a place where weird forces converged, and there were stories of witches’ sabbats, weird rituals, places in the woods where no grass would grow. Things like that.” She found the right key and opened the door, revealing a space that looked like a broom closet until she pressed the doorjamb in the right places to make the illusion of disinfectant and mops disappear. Ted gasped, and Marla grinned. “This club was built on top of one of those places where no grass would grow, a dead zone. Specifically, the room right in front of us is over that spot.” The room itself was nondescript, just a conference table, a few chairs, and a bright lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. “It’s funny, because people think places like that are dangerous, but this is actually the place where you’re safest from magic. You can’t cast spells here—it’s like trying to light a wet match, it just doesn’t work. It’s also impossible to magically eavesdrop in here, or use clairvoyance to see inside, or find someone hidden here using magical divination. It’s pretty sweet. We do dangerous business here, have sit-downs, things like that. Though it doesn’t seem to hurt inherently magical things. Telepaths can still read minds, as long as they’re all standing inside the room. But a telepath standing right outside the room can’t read the minds of those inside, and a telepath on the inside can’t read the mind of anyone outside. It’s like the place is insulated somehow.” Joshua’s powers would work in there, too, or so Hamil assured her—lovetalkers had been used for negotiations there in previous regimes. “We don’t understand how the place works, or why it has the limitations it does, but we’re happy to take advantage of it. There are a few places like this scattered around the country, and we’re lucky to have one under our control. We’ll have the meeting here, okay?” Marla closed the door, gave Ted the keyring, and explained how the lock worked. They returned upstairs.
Back at her office, she checked the time and said, “I’m going for a little walk. I’ll be back in time for the meeting. Hold down the fort.” Ted nodded, still clearly preoccupied by what she’d shown him.
She wondered if he’d still be there when she got back. She thought he probably would. He said he didn’t have an addictive personality, but she suspected Ted was addicted to learning new things, and he must realize there was a whole world of wonders opening up before him now. Marla remembered how that sense of wide-open possibility felt, herself. It felt pretty fucking great.
Marla found Joshua at the Wolf Bay Café, sipping something from a small black ceramic cup and tapping away at a tiny silver laptop. He closed it when he saw her approach, beaming up at her, and Marla sensed everyone else in the café, male and female, looking at her with jealousy for a moment. Then they all went back to staring at Joshua, more-or-less obtrusively. He must be hell on workplace productivity anyplace he goes. Looking at him certainly didn’t incline her to do any work. “Good morning,” he said.
“It is now,” she agreed, sitting next to him.
“A café au lait for my friend?” he called, and a barista with a pierced nose hurried to fill the order, ignoring the people waiting in line. This café didn’t actually have table service, but that wouldn’t stop them from bringing anything Joshua asked for, of course.
“Do you even pay for your drinks?” Marla asked, amused.
“Sometimes I try. It’s seldom accepted. I can’t help it. I’m likeable.”
“Good. I’ll need your likeability soon. I’m having a meeting at 12:30, and I’d like you to be there.”
“I hope it won’t run on too long. I have plans this afternoon.”
She felt a stab of entirely inappropriate jealousy, which immediately dissolved under the pleasure of his gaze. “Oh? For what?”
“I’m visiting a friend. What’s the meeting about?”
“Crazy sorcerers and failed assassins, mostly.”
“No delicate negotiations? Then why do I need to be there?”
Marla paused. Why did he need to be there? “Well, you were there when the assassin attacked, so you might have something to contribute. And I’d like to introduce you to some of my other associates….” Shetrailed off. Neither of those were very good reasons. She just wanted him there. But she couldn’t say that without giving up the power in their relationship. So she just grinned and said, “And because I’m your boss. Maybe I just want to make sure you remember that, in case last night gave you some other ideas.”
“Oh? You didn’t seem much like a boss last night.”
“I never said I was only your boss. Just that I’m also your boss.”
He nodded, conceding the point.
“But I’ve got a couple of hours before the meeting….” She realized everyone in the café was listening to her, and the barista was hovering just a step away from the table with her drink. Marla glanced up at her, and the girl put down the cup and scurried away. “You could come join me for a little mid-morning exercise.”
“Are you asking me as my boss, or as something else?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.” He rose. “We’ll need to-go cups, please,” he said sweetly, and three customers leapt from their seats to bring them cups and lids.
“I’ll go in alone first, if you like,” Joshua said, pausing in the doorway of Rondeau’s club. “I understand if you’d like to maintain the illusion of propriety.”
Marla checked the buttons on her shirt again, half-convinced she’d walk into the meeting partially undressed. “Yeah, might be better. I don’t care if people know we’re involved, but I don’t want that to be the focus of this meeting.”
Joshua kissed her cheek and went through the door, giving Marla a moment alone on the street to collect herself. How had her love life gone from vibrator-and-alone-time to midmorning-delight-with-a-lovetalker so quickly? She knew it was partly Joshua’s magic that made her willing to open herself up to him, physically and (at least a little) emotionally. Was she just drawn to his magic, or to the man himself? Marla felt lucky to have Joshua in her life, though. He was fulfilling parts of her she hadn’t realized were wanting. And yet, she considered love spells coercive, and wasn’t Joshua really a walking, talking love spell? How could Marla possibly judge this situation objectively when she was inside it? She couldn’t.
This whole thing was something to ponder later. She had more pressing business now. Supposedly the powers of lovetalkers were impossible to resist, but maybe Langford could come up with a countercharm. If so, Marla could examine her feelings for Joshua unclouded by his pheromones or aura manipulation or whatever. She’d ask.
Marla went inside, and found Ted at the foot of the stairs. “Sorry I’m late. I got busy. Is everyone here?”
“Everyone but Rondeau.”
Marla scowled. “Damn it, I told him this was important. Call his cell.”
“I have, several times. It goes straight to voicemail. I’m sorry, Marla.”
She sighed. “It’s all right.”
“There have been phone calls. From, ah, your various other associates. They’re all concerned about what’s happening with the city. The…Genevieve problem, they call it?”
Marla groaned. “That’s part of what I’m here to deal with. Are the others in the conference room?”
“Devouring sandwiches as we speak.”
“Good man.” Marla went to the secret conference room. Ted had installed a new multiline phone in the center of the table and had a little sideboard set up with trays of bread and meat. Langford was standing, shoving rolls of meat and cheese into his mouth, while Hamil focused on the carbohydrates, sitting at the table and chewing his way methodically through a heap of croissants. Joshua had a little plate of grapes before him on the table, and Kardec stood, arms folded, against the far wall, where he could see the door. They were all trying not to stare at Joshua, but only Kardec was doing a halfway decent job. “Thank you all for coming. You there, Husch?”
“Yes,” the voice crackled from the phone.
“Great. I have some separate-but-overlapping stuff to talk about, and it was just easier having all of you here at once. Kardec: I found your boy. He tried to assassinate me last night.”
Kardec whistled. “Did you kill him?” He sounded both worried and hopeful.
“No such luck. I incapacitated him, but he teleported, or something. Disappeared right out of my hands.”
Kardec’s brow furrowed. “That’s a new trick.”
“I kept some of his things, though.” She gestured, and Ted brought over a box with Zealand’s stun gun, pistol, and garrote. “Think you can track him with these, Langford?”
Langford came over, his mouth still full, poked through the objects in the box, then nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. When he finds Zealand, Kardec, I’ll let you know, if you promise to get him the hell out of my city, and if you swear to find out who hired him and let me know. It’s no surprise I’ve got enemies, but it would help if I knew which shoulder I should be looking over, you know?”
Kardec looked annoyed, but said, “Fine.”
Marla sat down at the head of the table. “Yeah? I don’t need to take you out back and throw a circle of binding around us, do I? To make sure you’re telling the truth?”
“I give my word as a slow assassin.”
“Ah,” Langford said. “You’re a slow assassin? I’ve always wanted to ask about some of your more exotic poisons—”
“Later,” Marla interrupted. “Okay, Kardec, I’ll take your word. Langford: any luck finding Dr. Husch’s fugitive?”
“She appears intermittently, then disappears.” He unfolded a map of the city with a scattering of red dots drawn all over it. “There is no pattern apparent yet. But…her effects are being noticed.” He nodded toward Hamil. “He can tell you more.”
“Yes,” Hamil said, his voice heavy with gravitas. He always sounded like he was intoning the voice-over for an Academy Award–winning movie. “My spies at street level have been present for several of her appearances. Genevieve Kelley typically lurches out of an alley, or from around a corner, and look
s around in fear and bewilderment. Every once in a great while she brushes up against someone, and when she does…they fall down. Unconscious, but only for a little while, a few seconds sometimes, never more than a couple of minutes. The victims wake up and go on about their business, seemingly unaffected…at first.”
“Have you followed any of them after that first contact?”
“Yes.” Hamil sighed. “They disappear. Sometimes within a few minutes, sometimes later. There’s no discernible pattern, which is annoying, but then, her power is linked to dreams, and dreams are notoriously unpredictable. But the victims all vanish, and later they reappear, elsewhere in the city. At least, some of them. Maybe all of them, but we haven’t seen all of them reappear.”
“I assume they’re disappearing into Genevieve’s dream world,” Dr. Husch said. “That when she comes into contact with people, she…drags them into her gravity. Or loosens their bonds with consensual reality. I’m not sure.”
“Yeah,” Marla said. “Sounds like what happened to me, all right, and it fits in with those people Joshua and I ran into the other night, the ones from the hospital waiting room. Huh. I wonder if Zealand ran into Genevieve, if that’s why he disappeared. He might be dream-poisoned, too, I guess….” She shook off the thought. There was no way to prove or disprove the hypothesis, but she’d keep it in mind. “So, Langford, any conclusions yet? Is it bird flu, or black plague?”
“So far it seems more like bird flu,” he said. “Only the people Genevieve touches are infected, if ‘infection’ is the right word. There’s an initial reaction—passing out—and then a variable incubation period before the full onset, signified by the disappearance from this world. I’ve seen no sign that the infected pass the condition on to others. But from what you told us, people can be swept up by the parts of her dream world that intrude into our reality, even without encountering Genevieve directly. Which means it’s impossible to extrapolate the extent of the damage Gevenieve’s presence could do if left unchecked.”