“No.” He put a hand on my arm, gave it a gentle squeeze.
“It was hard when I was in the hospital. Suze wasn’t allowed to see me. We couldn’t help each other. The meds they gave me helped a little. But she got worse. After I got out, she was my only friend for a while. Everyone else acted like I was contagious. And then one day...” I blinked hard and stopped talking for what felt like a long time. I cleared my throat. “I found her. In her closet. My parents watched me like a hawk after that. But it was like I took the option off the table. I can’t explain it. I just decided, anything but that. Like I had to live for both of us. So he wouldn’t win.”
I risked a glance at Joe. His gaze was fixed on my face. I looked up at the ceiling of the yurt. “It wasn’t like I had one big moment of rebellion and he left. It was more like breaking up with someone who refuses to accept it. He was there less often and when he did show up, it still ended with me having a setback, but I got used to fighting back and he would get angry and vanish. Eventually he had been gone so long that I figured he had decided not to bother with me anymore. But even though he wasn’t there tormenting me, I don’t think I was really free of him.” I remembered the night I fled the island, the thing in the trees that chased me until it didn’t. The dominoes fell. “I think the vulture kept me tied to him until my accident, and somehow when I was at my turning point, that egregore was destroyed.”
Joe sat up straighter. “And that’s when you were freed?”
“Maybe,” I said. I was having the same realization that he was. “We could kill the egregore.”
“If we can figure out how, yes.” His eyes glinted with excitement.
“Maybe Tamar knows how,” I said. “Let’s go talk to her.”
We gathered up the snacks and ice packs as fast as we could. “How are you doing now?” said Joe.
“I’m fine. Eating and cooling off helped.”
“No. I mean, in the big picture. In the wanting-to-stay-alive way.”
I felt my face go hot. “I’m good.” I meant it. “Life kind of sucks sometimes, but on the whole I feel like I’d rather be here than not.”
“Good,” he said, and it was a densely-packed little syllable.
We rushed back to Free Radicals, where Cherry and Sara sat in the grass and Tamar paced in front of them. They swarmed me as we got close. “I’m fine,” I insisted. “All grounded and everything.”
“Sit down anyway.” Sara pulled a chair over for me.
Tamar squatted in front of me, searching my face. “So? I’m dying here. What happened? What did you get?”
“Let her have a sip of water.” Cherry pressed a fresh bottle of water into my hand.
Tamar waved a hand. “She’s fine. So?”
“I found it. Where he’s hiding out. He was there. He saw me.” I filled them in, but still left out his threat against me. I touched the sunglasses, still on my head. “They worked, Tamar. When we went to the yurt, I saw his handprint on the wall there. And the vulture. His target, it’s Vivi, from Science Faction. I know her, a little bit.”
Everyone exhaled. Tamar sank back onto her butt, looping her arms around her knees. “Good work, kid. It was dumb as hell to put yourself in the same space with him like that, but since you did, at least we got something for it.”
“Thanks?” I took an extra long drink of water out of spite. “It’s not like I tried to attract his attention.”
“So he wanted you to, what, work for him?” said Sara. “To pick out who he should target?”
I shook my head. “I feel like there’s more to it than that. Like it’s more than just ‘a soul for a soul’. Like he had something specific in mind.”
“Wait--does that mean Vivi’s not his victim?” said Cherry.
“I think it means it’s not that simple.” Joe had stationed himself on the grass right at my feet. “It’s not like what he did to Mari’s friend Charlie. I hate to say it, but it sounds like he does that a lot. There has to be some other reason why his plan this weekend is different. Special. Why saving Vivi matters enough to bring us all here. What if she’s just a piece of something bigger?”
“Then we’re fucked,” said Cherry.
“No, we are not.” Tamar took the sunglasses from me and turned them over in her hands. “If we can free Vivi, or protect her, before this demon asshole gets a chance to swap her out for someone else, then we’re still throwing a monkey wrench in the works. We don’t know how important she is. Could be if we manage that, it’ll be enough to stop the bigger problem.”
“Joe and I have a theory,” I said. “Rosa’s protection keeps him out of my soul now, but I think the actual bond was broken when the egregore formed between us was destroyed. We think if we can do that for Vivi, she’ll at least be out of his grasp even if we can’t protect her from anything else. I just don’t know how to destroy it. Tamar, is that something you know how to do?”
She wiggled her hand. “Sort of? I know a little bit of the theory. But we might not get more than one shot at it, and I know more about thought forms that are created and fed by humans. What we need is someone who knows demons to help us be sure what we’re doing.”
Cherry sat down beside Tamar and nudged her. “But we do.”
Tamar scowled. “Nope.”
“Come on,” Cherry said. “You told me yourself that Dionne was an expert demonologist.”
“Don’t care.”
“Really? You can’t suck it up long enough to just send her a text? I thought this whole weekend was super important.” Cherry folded her arms.
Joe, Sara, and I watched in awkward silence as Tamar’s jaw worked and her face got stormy. “Please,” said Sara at last. “You heard what Mari described. How she looked after seeing that place. We have to do something. We might be the only people here who have any idea what to do.”
Tamar blew out her breath through her nose, like an angry bull. “Fine. I’ll text her. But I’m not talking to her on the phone.” She got up and stalked to her tent.
“What was that all about?” I said.
Cherry shook her head and sighed. “It’s--a whole thing. Doesn’t matter. All we need is for Dionne to send us instructions and we’ll be fine.”
A few moments later, Tamar stormed back. “It’s done. Happy?”
“Thank you, witch mama.” Cherry switched on a smile that radiated charm.
“Well, that’s about all we can do for the moment.” Tamar checked her watch. “Cherry and I gotta go to the water battle to rep the Radicals. Why don’t we all go over? Have some fun while we wait for an answer. Assuming we get one.”
“Maybe you can find Vivi and bring her along?” Sara said to me. “At least then, we can keep eyes on her.”
“Good idea,” said Joe. “Maybe you’ll get more out of her. And either way, might as well have a little time to enjoy being at one of the greatest places in the mid-Atlantic.”
“I’ll try,” I promised.
Truthfully, it sounded so luxurious to be able to just throw myself into events and parties, to climb around on the artwork and visit theme camp happy hours, to enjoy the wild creative energy that flowed everywhere here. Still, I wouldn’t be able to truly relax while Vivi was still bound to the demon, if there was any chance that I could help her if I saw danger coming.
Dammit.
I went in search of her.
The hottest part of the day had passed, the humid sultriness tempered by cooling breezes. It was a delicious relief. I enjoyed the sights of the people who passed me--a pretty girl in Victorian bloomers, camisole, and corset bearing a lace parasol and looking fresh and cool, a tuxedoed man on stilts, a pack of people in homemade superhero costumes, two frail young goth kids in long lace coats holding hands, a woman in a penguin suit carrying a light-up hula hoop, a knot of women walking with linked arms, all of them in striped stockings and rainbow tulle
tutus, each wearing a different color wig. People smiled at me and waved hello. People clustered at camps to eat, to dance, to kiss and flirt, to paint each other. The balloon arc still sailed overhead. Even the signs reminding everyone to pick up their trash were colorful, funny, weird.
Everywhere, there was music. The heavy bass throbbed in my veins and I let it wash over me, feeling a soul-level ache of longing. I used to have music playing everywhere--at my desk, in the car, on the kitchen counter when I made dinner. In the places I’d lived since I’d hit the streets, I tried to find the buskers and make friends with musicians. For a while I’d had an old CD Walkman powered by batteries, but it’d died, and they were hard to come by anymore. Everything now needed electricity for recharging. The empty silence was one of the hardest non-survival things about what my life had become. I stood near one DJ tent for a moment and just let the music fill me, like I could store it for later.
Suddenly I felt a moment of kinship with Mr. Frosty and Hot Lips. I understood why they’d want to spend their time volunteering to make sure that this place stayed safe for everyone. I could see what they saw, the pleasure they must take in seeing so many others able to be carefree and uninhibited because they felt safe here.
I got lucky. As I neared the big field near the stage where the battle was about to start, I picked Vivi out of the crowd, sitting cross-legged in the front lines of the audience with a sack of popcorn in her lap, waving a sign that said MAKE BACON OUT OF ‘EM!
“This seat taken?” I stood in the spot beside her as the audience filled up.
“Oh hey, Mari! Please, sit.” She beamed at me as I dropped down to the grass next to her. “You look like you’ve rallied. Good thing, you don’t want to miss this. It’s one of my favorite things at Morph.”
The water battle was a face-off between the Free Radicals and the Swank Swine, with the Swine in kilts, jackets, and elaborate hats that somehow evoked both British Redcoats and Roman centurions, and the Radicals in a fine ragtag motley of guerrilla style that included a colorful assortment of kitchen sponges fastened to their outfits to serve as “armor”. I loved it. They were all armed with a variety of high-powered water guns, and the Swine had constructed a couple of narrow-barreled wheeled cannons threaded with hoses that were “fired” from hand-pumped water tanks. The Radicals appeared to favor water balloon grenades and Molotov cocktails fashioned from re-purposed disposable water bottles, the very light ones that crush easily.
The audience ringed around the field, cheering and in some cases displaying protest signs ranging from witty to simply Dada. One of the latter read TASTY BITS OF OATS AND CHEWY while another just said PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA with a picture of a bird driving a car. Two women on either end of the field, each in solidarity with a different side, provided highly-biased color commentary through megaphones, occasionally devolving into Yo Mama-style slams against each other. Vendors wove through the audience with trays strapped to their shoulders, hawking free popcorn or memorabilia like little flags that said “Support war profiteering!” and pink rubber bracelets that said “None of this purchase goes to the cause”.
I spotted Cherry soon enough, in the thick of the fight with a colander strapped to her head and bright purple sponge cheek guards fastened to it; she cradled an armful of red water balloons that she lobbed at the enemy with a surprisingly well-aimed and forceful pitch. Tamar was among the “vendors”. I cheered for Cherry, glad that my new friends were getting to do at least one goofy thing with their camp.
Chaos erupted on the field as a small pack of battle-crashers--a half-dozen at most--stormed the field. They looked like they’d raided the costume tables at the Goblin Market, all of them in weird masks or scarves over their faces, wigs or hats askew, mismatched clothes. They stole ammo from both camps, barraging the players with their own weaponry, overturning a cannon tank and spilling it, knocking balloon grenades out of someone’s arms, stealing a vendor tray full of popcorn. Everyone in the audience jumped to their feet to boo them, and some joined the players in chasing them off, though they got away with a water gun and a basket of water balloons. They scattered, and I saw a couple of rangers detach from the crowd and take off after them, yelling into their radios as they went.
“What the hell?” Cherry yelled at the Swank Swine, striding toward them with arms wide. “You paying off ringers to fuck shit up because you know you can’t buy your way out of the revolution, piggies?”
“I say!” retorted one of the Swine, replacing his monocle, which had a purple lens. “I rather think you filthy masses recruited a bunch of dirty anarchists because you can’t win a friendly game in a sportsmanlike way.” His teammates golf-clapped and cleared their throats in approval.
“Oh yeah?” To my relief, Cherry grinned, her wicked eyes glinting. “We’re gonna grill up some pork butts for dinner tonight!”
The monocled Swine held his water gun to the sky. “To arms!”
Cherry hit him square in the chest with a water balloon, and with a roar from the crowd the battle resumed with even more energy and smack-talking than before. We stayed on our feet and cheered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Vivi enjoying herself, laughing and shrieking as she was hit by an errant water gun stream and someone yelled, “Friendly fire! Friendly fire!” She didn’t look like someone who had doom hanging over her head. She just looked happy and alive.
I was grateful for that, and for the chance to enjoy some of this weekend’s play. The field was full of energy and laughter and high spirits, and the battle was completely silly, and it was what I would’ve had if I’d come here without a mission--a time out of time, a respite, a place to lay down my worries and recharge my soul for a few days. Even though I wasn’t getting to do that, I still savored the chance to grab a few moments of it. I couldn’t be sure there would be many more of them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The battle ended when the Radicals’ water supplies proved greater, forcing the Swine into retreat, and the crowd shifted and dispersed. The Radicals and some civic-minded onlookers crawled the field to pick up every last shred of debris, a DJ took the stage to fire up some dance music, and people drifted on to other entertainments. “That was so much fun,” I said to Vivi. “What are you up to now? I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know what to do first.”
She hesitated, glancing toward the art installations at the center of camp and eating more of her second box of popcorn from the battle. “Well, I wanted to go visit the temple.” She indicated the tall ziggurat structure that loomed over nearly everything but the MetamorphosUS tree itself. “People write and draw things on the walls. Prayers and intentions, messages for people who are gone, you know, things that they want carried out into the universe when the temple gets burned on Sunday.”
I got it. “If you don’t mind my saying, that seems kind of--woo for someone from Science Faction.”
She smiled. “I guess. Maybe it’s more for me to release things than anything else. My therapist would be proud.” She looked over at the building again. “You should come too. I mean, if you want to. I recommend it. Makes me feel, lighter I guess.”
I almost said no. The thought of it made me feel shy, vulnerable. But she was letting me stick close to her, and I was touched that she would share that experience with me. “Okay.”
There was a labyrinth around the base, formed out of a motley of bed sheets that were also painted and drawn on. We made our way through it to the wooden structure that was by now heavily adorned in graffiti, doodles, and writing in all colors of marker. Vivi picked out a couple of markers from the bucket left nearby for that purpose, and searched out a bit of wall for her own contribution. I took a red and a black marker and looked for an empty spot at a discreet distance from hers. I wanted so badly to know what she wrote, to see if it offered any clue to her bond with the demon, but that seemed as bad as reading her diary.
Instead, I stared at my little blank ply
wood space and the things written around it. They ranged from raw, heartfelt tributes to dead loved ones, to wishes, to philosophical bits like “Ask for what you want”. Some people had drawn intricate, beautiful designs that would be a true sacrifice to give up to the flames on Sunday. I wrote “Thank You” with the black marker, making the Y into Rosa’s trident, and used the red to draw a blooming rose around it. Then I drew a red heart and wrote in it, “Come back to me”.
I almost squashed my final impulse, but it was so strong I couldn’t ignore it. My hand shook as I used the red marker to draw a handprint. With the black marker, I drew a circle around it and a line through it, and around the edges wrote, “It ends here” and “Banished in flame”. I got to my feet and stumbled back from it when I was done, as though the demon might materialize right in front of me and take up the gauntlet I’d thrown at this wall.
Vivi was looking around for me. “You okay?” She came closer. She glanced at the wall--was it my imagination that she stared for just a moment at the handprint? “You look flushed. Are you overheated again?”
“Just--didn’t realize how powerful this would be. Thank you for the idea.”
“No prob. So. I was thinking I’d head back to camp and see if the dinner folks need any help. We could take the scenic route if you want to walk with me.”
I smiled. “I appreciate you looking out for a newbie.”
“We were all there once, right?” She shrugged and smiled back.
As we strolled through the center of camp, Vivi warmed to her tour guide role, pointing out different camps that had great dance parties, or offered food, or hosted happy hours. She listed off a few workshops and events not to miss. “And of course, you’re going to the big burn tomorrow night, right? When they burn the Metamorphosis?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I hoped that would be true, and that I wouldn’t be off doing battle with a demon instead.
We were passing the Metamorphosis as she mentioned it, and I noticed a knot of people gathered around it to watch someone on one of its lower leaf-shaped platforms. I slowed. The person looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. And then he turned, and I saw the MOTOR CITY leather patch on the back of his denim vest. Of course--the staff spinner from the fire last night. In daylight, the whorls and patterns of red on his bare chest and arms were even more striking. His hair was deep scarlet and black, matted curls and braids, adorned with beads and colored thread
MetamorphosUS: Book 1 of the Mythfit Witch Mysteries Page 18