by C. E. Murphy
“He’s a spirit guide, Jo. You think somebody like that can even get killed?” It was a genuine question, one I had no answer to. All I could do was shake my head.
“It felt like me, Gary. It felt like me fucking something up. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like when a spirit uses his power, but this felt like me telling the city to hit me with its best shot. It was everything. And the butterfly thing just…ate him. It jumped on him and just let me go.” My stomach roiled again, but there’d been nothing for it to evict the first time. “I think he’s dead. And it’s my fault.”
“Joanie…”
I had to be a mess if Gary kept calling me Joanie. I shook my head, still staring through him as I whispered, “I’m not taking blame where it doesn’t belong, Gary. He didn’t want me out there and I ignored him. That thing had me trapped and he chose to let it eat him instead of letting it take me.”
“Chose to, Jo,” Gary said quietly. “You keep tellin’ me that’s what shamanism’s all about. Makin’ choices.”
I finally focused on him again, feeling bleakness carving itself into my face. “That doesn’t make it any less my fault.” There were so many recriminations to heap on my own head I could’ve stayed there for the rest of my life, paralyzed and shriveled by guilt and misery. I reached out to fumble the toilet lever down, washing away the spatters of bile I’d choked up, then used the bowl and the tub to push myself upward.
“Where’re you goin’?”
“I don’t know.” I sounded like someone’d flattened me with a rolling pin and stabbed holes in what remained, to make sure I’d never rise properly again. “I’ve got to get somewhere I can think. I’ll call you, Gary. I’ll call in a while. I’m sorry.”
I stumbled out of the apartment and down to my car. A minute later she pulled out into five o’clock traffic, me feeling like she was steering herself.
Pretty much the last place I expected her to go was Thunderbird Falls.
I had to park along the road near Matthews Beach Park, as the parking lot itself was still a hopscotch of fallen land and broken pavement. There were boards up over the deeper and wider crevasses, and the yellow danger tape spread everywhere was torn and cut away, left to rustle in the evening breeze. I made my way through the mess left of the lot, watching my feet instead of the passersby. There were more of them than I expected, given the area had been cordoned off two weeks ago and was still supposed to be unused. No one in the neighborhood seemed to be taking that seriously, voices raised in good nature and kids running about, leaping over the cuts in the earth as if they didn’t exist. Evidence of the earthquake that had torn Lake Washington’s western side was everywhere, and people were just going about their lives without concern despite that. It was as if the magic that had been thrust into Seattle’s atmosphere a few weeks earlier had sluffed off, putting everything back to normal. If someone had not just died for me, I might have taken comfort in feeling I wasn’t making irrevocable changes to strangers’ lives.
Instead, I felt like something worse than panic had taken hold inside me. It felt cold and resolute, the feeling of despair tangled with destiny. Coyote’d died for me. Colin and Faye had died because of me. I would be God damned if I was going to lose anybody else on my watch. I wished my newfound resolution felt good, but it only felt like somebody’d sealed over my emotions with lead piping and was waiting for my body to realize my soul was dead. Spiderweb cracks slid through my vision, a windshield shattered. My soul hadn’t notified my body of its pathetic, miserable state for half my life. I’d been used to feeling cut off. I’d have thought feeling that way again would be comforting.
There were more voices down at the falls than I expected, doing something that sounded suspiciously like chanting. Sunlight caught a glitter on something gold and metallic through the trees, and I slowed down. It wasn’t like I’d intended to come here. It’d been my car’s idea. I was going to have to rename her Kitt.
For some reason my feet kept moving me forward while I peered ahead of myself, uncomfortably certain of what I’d see once I got clear of the boardwalks and wooden steps that made hash of what had once been treed waterfront. I could hear the stream made by the falls, and wondered briefly what people were calling it. Probably not Jo’s Hand’s Stream. I kept catching mere glimpses of people ahead of me, as if the sunlight was helping them deliberately evade my sight. They winked in and out of my vision as if they didn’t quite belong in this world, and by the time I got to the bottom of the boardwalk, I wasn’t sure they did.
Not that they were Otherworldly. They were perfectly human, all of them, even the guy wearing white robes and a beard down to his belly button. He was behind a set of skin drums broad enough to be heard halfway across Seattle, but rumbled them so quietly I didn’t realize I’d been hearing them until I saw him playing. I came to a stop, still standing on the boardwalk, and looked over what I automatically and uncharitably categorized as an enormous group of longhaired hippie freaks.
There were several dozen of them, women in long skirts with long hair, men in bell-bottom jeans and tie-dyed shirts. There were also a fair number of incredibly normal-looking people mixed in with them, but even the ones wearing slacks and button-down shirts looked too damned cheerful to fit into my idea of natural behavior. They were mingling, laughing, chatting, waving their hands passionately as they disagreed without venom. They stood together in groups or pairs, no one alone at a single glance, though a second look showed me individuals sitting or standing in meditation, apparently consumed with personal joy that required no sharing.
Even without the sight triggered I could practically see their auras, glowing with good-naturedness and excitement. The air tingled with it, as if people were doing—
I brushed my hand over my eyes, knowing when I lowered it, I would see in two worlds. As if people were doing magic, Joanne. I finished the thought forcibly, and dropped my hand.
Right at the foot of the falls, there was a group weaving power together, a delicate construction that took form before my eyes. I could see where it was going, and it was going to be beautiful: an arch that would rise over the edge of the fallen lake, fifteen or twenty feet into the air, made of starlight and sunlight. Glimmers of a thunderbird were already in place at its apex, like a sign of welcome to anyone with eyes to see it.
And it was clear nearly everyone here had those eyes. Power, far more than the eleven coven members had shared, was palpable here. It strengthened auras and built on itself, like static charges from winter-dry wool. The earth itself announced its presence, torn and battered as it was: magic had been done here, and had left its mark. These pleasant, joyful people had been drawn here by power I’d laid down. By mistakes I’d made. And they were glad of it, the whole area having the sense of a giant coming-out party. They weren’t pretending or hoping or hiding, for the most part. They were there to share themselves, their experience, their lives that they’d tried to live quietly, for fear people like me would stare and call them crazy.
These were my people.
I sat down on the boardwalk and put my face in my hands, less to hide the activity from my gaze than to wrap my mind around that appalling idea. These were my people. The men and women who’d gathered here, at the site of my battle with an ancient, deadly serpent, were the ones who would believe in me and in what I could do without fail and without hesitation. They would accept me as one of their own, and very probably revere me if they figured out I was the one who’d shared skin with the thunderbird. The idea was horrifying.
“Joanne?”
I knew the woman’s voice and wasn’t entirely surprised to hear it here. It still took a few moments to lift my head and look up to find Marcia Williams standing before me. She was in her fifties, the lines of wisdom around her mouth now more deeply etched with sorrow. She’d held the position of the Crone in the coven I’d been a part of for a few days. Her power, genuine and pale in its colors, washed around her as she offered a sad smile and took a seat beside
me on the boardwalk. “I wondered if you’d come here,” she said. “I wondered if it would draw you back.”
“How is everyone?”
“Thomas is here. The others—” Marcia spread her hands in a shrug. “They may never come back,” she admitted. “I’ve thought about staying away myself.”
“But you’re here.” It was a question, and Marcia heard it as one, spreading her hands again.
“My life has been dedicated to the Goddess, Joanne. We made…terrible mistakes, but I believe She can and will and does, forgive us. I can’t walk away from my faith out of fear, not now. Maybe especially not now.” She was silent a moment, then said, “You’re also here.”
“You noticed that, huh? Look at them.” I nodded at the gathered magic-users, knowing I was avoiding Marcia’s own implied question. “I don’t know what to make of them. A lot of power and arrogance, used blindly, made the falls and a mess of the land here, and they’ve found it and they’re just so damned happy. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Marcia cupped her hands together, wrapping her fingers in the opposite palms to make a kind of yin-yang. “Nature prefers balance, Joanne. If our arrogance created this place, then maybe it’s meant to be used as a place of healing and joy. It becomes the balance.”
“Our.” I looked up at her, absurdly grateful for that.
“We’re rarely alone, Joanne. Even in our worst moments, we’re rarely alone.” She touched my shoulder, gave me a sad smile and walked away to join the throng of people.
Leaving me alone.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when I got up again. The sun still colored the horizon, but sunset came late in Seattle in July. My second sight stayed on, astounding neons and shimmering enthusiasm of growing things helped me breathe a little easier. One of the things I didn’t like to admit was how much I loved the crazy, vivid world I saw through the second sight. It made me feel as though I’d been wearing blinders all my life, and when I lost control of the sight and the blinders came back on, it was like I’d lost something important. I was grateful for its cooperation right now, even if I hadn’t really intended to call it up. Driving with it on turned out to be a lot easier than driving with my vision inversed.
It was after eight by the time I got to the precinct building. The parking lot was worryingly empty, and the garage, when I skulked down in hopes of finding comfort there, was worse. I’d never seen it so quiet, its usual din replaced by the noise of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. They were loud enough to give me a headache, and I wondered how I’d never noticed them before. I sat down on the bottom step leading into the garage and stared at the echoing room. Even its sense of purpose seemed faded without any of the mechanics there. I’d felt the garage’s force before, an animation of color that wasn’t exactly sentient, but knew it existed and why. Seeing it drained so badly made me feel even more alienated from myself than I already did.
“Depressing, isn’t it?”
I turned my head, only unsurprised because I didn’t seem to be able to feel any particular emotion. Thor came down the steps and sat down beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “It’s not quite as bad upstairs. Not good, but not this empty. I’m the only one left down here.”
“You’re the only one who wasn’t in my dream.” My voice was dull. “What’re you still doing here?”
“You said that earlier, about the dream. What’re you talking about?” He shrugged a little. “I don’t know. There were a lot of cars to work on today, even with so many people out. I guess I just wanted to try to keep up. Stupid, huh?”
“No. It’s something to do. So you don’t feel so helpless.” I knew exactly what that felt like, but I hadn’t yet pulled the rabbit out of my hat. I was still useless. “Thank you.” The words came out abruptly and I shifted my shoulders, feeling my shirt brush against Thor’s again, cotton grabbing. “For helping me in March when my eardrums exploded. I never said thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I think you paid me back.” He leaned back to slide a hand into his pocket—he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead of the mechanic’s uniform the department issued—and came out with the piece of topaz. I glanced at it, glowing warm in his hand, then at him, getting an eyeful of aura that brought a faint smile to my lips.
“You really are a thunder god.” He was all stormy grays and deep blues, shot by streaks of bright silver, like lightning. Some of the turmoil that darkened his colors was from the absence of our coworkers. His coworkers, I had to remind myself. I didn’t belong down in the garage anymore. I didn’t have enough in me to find the thought as miserable as I once would’ve, and tried focusing on Thor’s colors again to take my mind off that and everything else. I imagined there’d normally be less stress discoloring the colors, but even so, they suited the nickname I’d given him to a wonderful degree.
“Do I want to know what that means?”
I shook my head and looked back at the garage. “Probably not.” I felt, more than saw, his frown, and was completely taken aback when he reached out and turned my face toward him again. His eyebrows were drawn down with curiosity.
“What color are your eyes?”
“Green. Hazel. Why?”
“Hazel,” he repeated after a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”
I sighed and moved my face out of his touch, closing my eyes. “They look gold right now, don’t they.”
“Yeah. I guess I can see the green in them from here—” I felt the warmth of his hand as he reached for my chin again, and looked back at him in bewilderment. People didn’t go around touching me that casually, unless it was to sock me on the shoulder in a one-of-the-guys routine. He’d sat up and his face was closer to mine than I was used to a man’s being. Nerves cramped my stomach, the closeness seeming uncomfortably intimate, but I didn’t know how to get away without being obvious to the point of rudeness. “—but if I were more than ten inches away I’d think your eyes were gold. Kinda cool. I’ve only met a couple of people with gold eyes before.” He sat back again, releasing me from the têtea-tête without seeming to notice it himself.
“I don’t think I’ve met anybody with gold eyes.” Except Coyote. Misery swept up unexpectedly and seized me by the throat, shattering the cold that had settled on me for a little while. I stood up fast enough to be rude after all, reaching for the railing. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get going, go do some things.” Action, moving forward purposefully, was the only thing I thought would get me through the next few days without wanting to die myself. If it could keep emotion at bay long enough, I could find a way to deal with Coyote’s death and the butterfly thing that had killed him. I could break down after that, or better yet, just build up that wall of cold until I didn’t feel the need to cry anymore.
“Yeah, I guess you probably do.” Thor didn’t sound offended as he squinted up at me, and twisted to watch me walk stiffly up the stairs. “Hey, Joanne.”
I looked back, taken off guard. He’d never called me by name before, and I’d half expected him to have a nickname for me as obnoxious as the Thor I’d saddled him with.
“I said maybe we’d see each other at a club sometime….” I felt my back muscles tighten, like I was waiting to take a hit. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I don’t go out much.”
“Yeah, you said that, so I thought maybe I’d better make it a specific sometime. I’ve got tickets for an Alan Claussen gig at the end of the month. You want to go?” Silver shot through his aura, looking like hope.
I thought of Coyote’s last gambit, the burst of sheer orange and blue power that had broken me free, and wondered if I had any right to go ahead and go on with my life when everything I’d done with it so far had been to fuck up in one dramatic fashion or another. I opened my mouth to say no, and Thor saw it, disappointment dimming the silver streaks to gray.
You gotta balance things out, Jo. The way you go ain’t healthy. Gary’s words came back to me and I tightened my fingers around the railing. Punishing myself wasn’t go
ing to bring Coyote back. Trying to maintain the damaged hermitdom I’d imposed on myself was a hundred percent counter to what he’d wanted me to do. It shouldn’t take people dying to get me to pay attention, but if it did, I was goddamned well going to listen.
“Yeah,” I heard myself say, very quietly. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
Surprise lit his face like a sunbeam and Thor waved me off, smiling broadly. “Awesome. We’ll talk about it later. Go save the world.”
CHAPTER 20
That wasn’t the first time a good-looking man had given me a go save the world send-off. It wasn’t even the first time today. I could feel my usual sarcastic litany running through the back of my mind, things like, that can’t be a good sign, and it’s clear the world is in a lot more trouble than words can summarize if it needs somebody like me to be its savior. I usually enjoyed wallowing in that kind of woe-is-me patter.
Right now I was so disgusted with myself I wondered how I’d ever gotten any relief from it. That I couldn’t stop it from nattering on made a bad taste in my mouth, bitter and sharp enough that I felt like I was holding back vomit. I could even feel it in the way I held my face, as if what I really needed to do was get to a bathroom and spit out a mouthful of nastiness. I was still holding my mouth that way when I walked into Morrison’s office.
He was in the midst of shrugging a jacket on, and for the first time in history he said, “What’s wrong?” instead of berating me or looking frustrated that I was still around. I ignored him and got a cup of water from his cooler and washed the dredges of coffee out of my mouth, then sat without answering. Morrison stared at me, then slid the jacket off again and came around his desk, leaning on it as he folded his arms and looked at me. Concern flashed through his aura, dark patches in colors already blackened by stress.
Part of me admired how fast I’d adapted to seeing auras. Half an hour of it and it hardly seemed worth mentioning anymore. The rest of me just sat there and gave the button above Morrison’s belt a thousand-mile stare, like it might turn out to be hiding the secrets of the universe. It was more likely hiding Morrison’s belly button. For a few seconds I was actually grateful for my mind’s idiotic tangents while I tried to remember where standard-cut men’s waistlines hit the waist in relation to a standard-man’s belly button, and decided that yes, probably the first button above the belt was about right.