by Chris Kim
“And kids are not called.”
“Not usually.”
“But Michael is one,” Jean pointed out.
“Well, yes,” Erik granted. He bit on his lower lip for a second. “How should I put this ... For every person who gains chokmah the right way, ten try to cheat.”
Shock got it immediately. “Cheater wizard-wannabes used Michael as their guinea pig?”
“Top marks,” said Erik with a crooked smile. “My guess is his captors tried to summon a dead wizard to make his or her spirit possess Michael. It’s a popular cheat; if it works as intended, you gain the late wizard’s chokmah.”
“Did they succeed?” Jean asked.
“No idea, since I don’t know who they were hoping to get,” Erik answered.
“You can’t tell from the ice?” asked Jean, waving a hand at the frost still lingering on her hotel bed. If she didn’t know any better, the ice was staying to spite them and their seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit room temperature.
Erik licked his lips. “About that ... What is your view of demonic or angelic spirits?”
“We need to call an exorcist?” Shock exclaimed with obvious disgust.
“There is no known instance of a human being expelling a spirit without divine intervention,” said Erik flatly. “We are, by definition, weaker than spirits.”
“And you call yourself a wizard,” accused Shock.
Erik glowered at him. “Shock, you are an intelligent person fully aware of cognitive biases. So I need not remind you that domain expertise does not transfer well.”
Jean mentally applauded the way Erik told Shock: “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I could be wrong, and I likely am, but Michael doesn’t look possessed,” Jean said. “So can we get a second opinion? No offense.”
“None taken,” said Erik kindly. “It’s a good idea, and I appreciate you suggesting it, Jean. If you can trust me, I can certainly find others who can take a look.”
Jean sagged with relief. “Great. Thanks.”
That morning was the last day of the TED Talk conference, which meant all the keynote speakers were swamped. Even so, Erik managed to find the time to send a handful of wizards Jean’s way.
The wizards that came to examine Michael looked as wizardish as Erik. That was to say, Jean wouldn’t have known they were wizards if they didn’t say: “Erik Ransom sent me.” Three of them were women. All of them agreed “Michael might be possessed by [ice] demon[s]”. One went so far as to speculate Michael might’ve turned into a winter personification, of the likes of “Jack Frost”, “Father Winter” and “Snow Queen”. Not that humans can really turn into demigods, that was impossible, the particular wizard hastened to add.
The last wizard who stopped by was Erik’s cousin, a breathtakingly beautiful woman named Julia Lestrade. Ms. Lestrade recognized Shock as so-and-so’s hooligan son who called her a charlatan in public. The passing way Ms. Lestrade mentioned this made Jean decide she was going to love her forever. Ms. Lestrade’s male companion approaching Shock with dangerous-lookin intent didn’t change this.
“You offended a wizard?!” Jean shouted while keeping the man in a chokehold; a difficult feat as he was at least a half a foot taller and remarkably strong.
“I didn’t know she was a wizard!” Shock protested. “Besides, I apologized! Profusely!”
“He did, and I accepted his apologies,” said Ms. Lestrade. She gave her companion a ruinous look. “Harry, promise me you won’t harm him.”
“Fine, I promise,” Harry grouched. To Jean, he said with an arched eyebrow: “That was a vow. You can let go of me.”
Jean gave him a warning squeeze before loosened her grip around his neck. As Harry straightened himself and corrected his lapels, a picture of ruffled dignity, Jean looked at him up and down. “Ms. Lestrade must put up with you for your looks.”
“I put up with him for more than that,” said Ms. Lestrade, as Harry resumed his place next to her. “To return to the important subject at hand: I think it is possible the kidnappers did know one cannot summon a dead wizard’s spirit. So they opted to summon a dead wizard’s memories, which is accessible, instead.” She smiled. “Erik has been vociferous about this fine point for a long time. I have reasons to believe it is sticking. Ask him to test your child to see if this is the case.”
Jean’s heart squirmed at the your child. “Will do. Now question: If it’s just memories of a dead person that haunting Michael, can you or Erik remove them?” She didn’t mention Michael’s night terrors.
Ms. Lestrade’s smile gentled and the rest of her expression turned sad.
“I’m sorry, Jean. You can’t remove memories without causing harm. The best you can do is help him forget.”
That evening, after the conference ended, Erik demonstrated how a wizard can turn liquid water to snow using chokmah and thermodynamics inside Shock’s hotel suite bathroom. Then he encouraged Michael to try. Michael, after a few false starts, made the shower run with puffs of snow.
“Good job, Michael. Your control is improving,” said Erik. He then turned to Jean. “Looks like my cousin’s right. Serves me right for thinking people can’t learn.”
“Just memories, then?” said Jean.
“Just memories,” Erik sighed. “That doesn’t mean he’s fine. Just not as bad as being possessed.”
“Intermittent symptoms resembling schizophrenia or dissociative identity disorder?” Shock guessed.
“For starters. For us wizards, the universe is the limit.” Erik sighed again. “Heaven alone knows what a child who has the knowledge and power of a fully grown wizard will do.”
Then Erik made a wordless beckoning gesture at Jean. When she came over, he said in a low voice:
“I need to take Michael to the wizard sanctuary Julia runs. I can vouch for its quality and safety, but I’m loathed to separate him from you.”
Jean didn’t stop to think. “Do they mind not-wizards?”
“All wizards and family members of wizards are welcome. It’s very kind of you to offer, Jean, but…” Erik flicked his gaze away for a second, “Once you enter, you might find it difficult to leave. Not because we stop you. It’s just ... time runs differently inside the sanctuary. A minute there could be a decade here, and an hour here could be a century there.”
Jean swallowed. “That’s fine. As long as it takes to help him settle.”
Erik’s eyes welled up. “What about your family? Friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, significant others?”
“My dad’s dead. My mom and sister will kill me and bury me in a shallow grave when they find out. But they won’t be surprised.” Jean shrugged. “Other than that... No SOs, no boyfriends, and all my friends are idiots who spend too much time on social media. Before you ask, yes, I’m willing to quit my job.”
“You realize he’s not your responsibility,” Shock said when Jean returned to his side.
“Eavesdropping, now?” Jean replied lightly.
Shock scowled. “This is serious. Keep going this way, and you might get arrested for kidnapping a minor. That’s a federal crime. And it’s only been three days. Too short to make life-changing decisions.”
“You think?” Jean elbowed him. “Worried that my terrible life choices will tarnish your reputation? You know after tomorrow I’m no longer your bodyguard, right?”
Shock looked stricken and even hurt. Shock cared about her, Jean realized with a start. Why, she couldn’t even begin to guess.
“Hey, I know you’re telling me this because you’re worried,” said Jean. “Don’t be. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Do you?” Shock challenged.
Jean drew in a deep breath.
“I know I’m putting my whole life in jeopardy to be the illegal mom of a child who will likely have severe mental problems for the rest of his life. If or when the world finds out, everyone will mock or demonize me. The FBI will be after my sorry ass. But i
f I leave Michael now, it will take a miracle for him to trust another human being again. Now, this is me speculating, but I think chances are high Michael will lash out and turn the world into a perpetual winter with no Christmas if we don’t do this right. How does that sound?”
Shock didn’t reply; just bowed his head and clenched his fists on top of his knees.
Jean studied him for a moment. Then she reached out and covered the nearest trembling fist with her own. It was awkward; never before had Jean been more aware how rough and unladylike her hands were.
“You’re a good guy, Shock,” said Jean quietly and sincerely. “It was an honor protecting you. Now, don’t put yourself in danger when I’m not around, okay?”
Jean didn’t sleep that night. A litany of “What the hell am I doing?” ran through her head over and over. Looking at Michael didn’t silence the thought. If anything, it got shriller.
Morning dawned as always. Jean went over Shock’s itinerary for the last time. She reported “all is well; client ready to meet escort” to her bosses after checking out from the hotel. She didn’t tell them she was going to quit. Later, she thought.
Silence reigned during the drive to the airport. Shock stared out the window. Michael sat in the back and made no noise. Jean focused on the road, afraid if she let her thoughts stray, she’d do something she’d regret.
They made to the airport on time. Jean parked the car by the strip for rental returns. Shock allowed her to help him out of the car and get his luggage. He took two steps towards the nearest departure gate but stopped short when he noticed Jean was staying put.
“You’re not going in with me?” Shock asked. There was a pleading note in his voice.
Jean jerked her chin at the approaching escort. “They’ll take care of you.”
Shock pursed his lips. The muscles under his cheeks twitched. In the end, he offered his hand and rumbled:
“Good luck.”
Jean shook it. “Thanks. Gonna need it.”
They let go. Jean watched Shock walk away, join his new escort, and then vanish into the crowd inside the airport.
Erik materialized next to her.
“Ready to go?”
Jean let out a sigh, squeezed Michael’s hand, and commanded herself to not tear up.
“Ready when you are.”
AND THEN...
I THINK I’M in the Swiss Alps.
Jean scribbled that sentence down in her imaginary diary the moment she and Michael arrived at Julia Lestrade’s sanctuary for displaced wizards via teleportation, courtesy of Erik Ransom. She guessed so based on half-remembered scenes from The Sound of Music. Then she put a mental sticky note to get Michael watch the movie.
Somehow. A quick glance through the village—the sanctuary was built like a rural village of the Continental Europe variety—made her suspect the place was off-grid. Or was this her Harry Potter bias speaking?
“We do have electricity, Internet, and indoor plumbing,” Erik said as he led the way.
“Oh, God, yes!” Jean erupted. She wasn’t ready to give up modern amenities on top of everything else.
Erik chuckled. “We may be wizards, but we’re still human. We like comfort.”
They stopped in front of a sprawling, two-story building that looked like a cross between a Hobbit hole and a beehive. A couple in their mid-fifties marched into view. The husband was built like a tall boulder and the woman was short, squat and sturdy like a pony.
“Builders,” Erik said as Jean and Michael stared at the logs, bales of hay, and gravel floating behind them. Erik then babbled on about the virtues of cob. The way the builder couple made the mud, gravel and hay churned themselves to make said cob convinced Jean the couple were masters of the craft.
“Do they take requests?” asked Jean as the builder couple marked the ground.
Erik nodded. “As long as you stay within lot limits.”
As though on cue, the marked ground dug itself out, and the displaced dirt piled into a heap.
“And you’re telling me this isn’t magic,” Jean accused.
“It’s not,” said Erik defensively.
“If it looks like magic, acts like magic...”
“It’s really not,” Erik insisted, two spots of red on his cheeks.
Jean smirked. When bored, tease Erik, she decided.
Later, Jean drew shapes on the wet cob walls as they went up. “This is fun. C’mon, Michael, draw something!” she cried as she etched ugly snowflakes around a built-in pantry shelf.
They molded a giant tree in the living room. Michael smiled for the first time as he drew triangular leaves.
Worth it.
Jean debated marking the passing days once she and Michael settle into their new cob apartment (fully plumbed and wired; Wi-Fi included). On the one hand, the sun rose and set like always. On the other hand, Erik’s words so far proved accurate. So he could be correct about time passing oddly in the sanctuary.
Shock called that evening.
“How is it going?”
“Good. Have an apartment now. Better than my old one.”
“You bought a place.”
“Yeah, no. A wizard couple built one for us. Free. Took them only a day, it’s crazy.”
There was a long pause.
“Jean,” said Shock at last. “It’s been three weeks.”
Jean blinked. She quickly consulted Google from her laptop and confirmed Shock’s statement.
“You need to get out of there. Quick,” Shock growled.
Jean said nothing but stared at Michael. He was making an effort to look like he was playing his with teddy but kept stealing anxious looks at Jean’s direction.
“I’ll think about it,” said Jean.
She ended the call. Then turned to Michael and said,
“Let’s go and explore.”
Ribbons of smoke from a hundred chimneys were rising to a darkening sky when they left the apartment. Jean clutched Michael’s mittened hand and made a game out of finding the butcher, the baker, and the furniture maker. The large window displays of the shops, all glowing brilliant gold, made identifying their wares easy.
“Do you guys take dollars?” Jean asked a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts.
In lieu of answering, vendor lady showed her smartphone and credit card reader.
“Nice,” said Jean. As she paid with cash, Jean thought about how to make a living here. She had enough money to last her three years, assuming her usual expenses, so she had a buffer (this is why I wanted F*** You Money, Jean thought). She’ll have to figure out how much it cost to live here with a child and ask around for odd jobs. Jean was pretty sure opportunities for body-guarding was slim to nothing in a peaceful village like this.
They roamed around some more. Snow like puffs of cotton started to fall. Jean felt girlish as she enjoyed the crunch beneath her boots.
They explored the biggest building, which turned out to be a library. Jean vowed to take Michael there every morning.
They found a playground near a church that had an old fashioned cemetery. Michael hid behind Jean when he noticed the children engaged in a furious snowball fight.
“Snowman?” Jean suggested.
Michael frowned; titled his head in curiosity and suspicion. Jean felt a pained smile tug at her mouth.
“Let’s make one,” she said, decisive.
They rolled balls of snow. Michael caught on to the concept quickly. A few of the younger children offered buttons and sticks for decoration. Michael stuck close to Jean, didn’t make eye contact, and refused to answer any questions. As the children didn’t speak English, Jean couldn’t have answered for him even if she wanted to.
An hour later, they had one child-sized snowman and lots and lots of snow gnomes. Michael, red-cheeked and nose running, grinned at them.
“Make more tomorrow?” Jean asked.
Michael nodded.
Snow fell all night and all day. Record-breaking snowfall, Erik said.
The villagers took the three feet of snow to stride and used their powers or shovels to clear paths. Michael learned to love hot stew after a cold day out making snow gnomes. He also liked the igloo Erik built for him.
Jean mastered running on powder and ice in the days that followed. She also started introducing Michael to her new neighbors as her son. If they thought it strange a woman from Ghana would claim a green-eyed, pale-skinned boy as her own, they kept such opinions to themselves.
Jean was making dinner one evening when she heard a small, scratchy voice she’d never heard before.
“Did you mean it?”
Jean did a double take. Michael was both looking at her and not looking at her, and his shoulders were hunched. Waiting for the ground to give away under his feet, she thought. Expecting blows for asking, but needing to know.
Jean put her paring knife down. Came over and lifted Michael’s chin, so they’d see eye to eye.
“You are Michael Kotei. My son. I will not leave you nor forsake you,” Jean declared.
Michael laughed until he cried.
Shock showed up the next morning, the first clear day in about two weeks from the sanctuary’s reckoning. He looked like he’d trekked hundreds of icy miles.
“ARE YOU INSANE?!” Jean roared.
Shock shrugged. “You weren’t picking up your phone.”
Jean swore and dragged Shock to her apartment. Michael took one look at Shock’s deplorable state and hid in the bathroom. Shock relished the warmth while Jean stripped off his wet gear.
“It’s a Snow Apocalypse out there,” he remarked.
“Duh,” snapped Jean as she threw his wet socks into the hamper.
“No, I mean, out in the normal world,” Shock elaborated. “Snow all the way down to Florida and Mexico. Could be a fluke, but then I remembered Ransom saying the universe is the limit for wizards...”