Smoke, Vampires, and Mirrors

by Dima Zales

  “Now, as a probability manipulator, with greater power, you should have access to lower frequency events—those that look like thicker strands,” she continues.

  I take out my deck of cards, shuffle it, then close my eyes and try Chester’s test again.

  I picture the deck separating, first into colors, then into suits, then sorted by values. I remind myself how cool it would be to get the deck in order and, like before, picture myself performing this test as card magic—or using it as a secret methodology.

  It’s easier this time.

  The colorful lines—the strands of fate—appear in front of me faster than before.

  Examining them carefully, I focus on their thickness.

  As before, the thicker strands feel more “right”—and I now have an idea why. It’s as Chester mentioned: the thicker strands require more power expenditure. And Lilith just said thicker strands are of lower-frequency events.

  Combine that information together, and it makes sense that a less likely event—like a one out of fifty-two factorial chance—will use up more probability manipulation power and be represented by a thicker strand.

  Like the last time, the thinner strands seem easier to control, more elastic, while the thicker ones are unreachable and unyielding.

  I mentally grab the thickest strand I can see.

  It’s as though I tried to grab a sea eel with oily hands.

  Fine. I ignore the unyielding strand for the moment, and try one that’s a little thinner—one that doesn’t feel as “right.”

  This one escapes my clutches as well—as does the next thinnest one and the next.

  Eventually, though, I find a strand that’s about medium thickness in reference to the others—and when I metaphysically put pressure on it, it snaps.

  Opening my eyes, I eagerly spread the cards in my hands.

  Yes!

  I made progress.

  Instead of just separating by color, like before, the cards also separated into suits. The values in each suit are still in a random order, but I’m closer to my goal.

  The TV appearance is already paying dividends.

  I do the test again.

  Getting the same result feels easier this time.

  Another try, and I manage to bend a thicker strand to my will—and half the spades are sorted as a result.

  “That’s excellent,” Lilith says, looking at my handiwork. “Just be careful overextending yourself so much in the beginning. There are limits on how much you can manipulate in a day.” She takes the deck from me, gives it a shuffle, then spreads the completely ordered deck with a wink. “Those limits expand as you get more experience—like a muscle growing—but right now, you might not have a lot left to play with.”

  Crap.

  That would’ve been useful information before I wasted my trickster mojo on playing with a deck of cards.

  Then again, I need the practice. I’m nowhere near being able to do something useful with my newfound power.

  Deciding to ignore Lilith’s warning, I shuffle the cards and try to repeat the test—but no strands show up, no matter how hard I focus.

  I guess I reached the limit she was talking about.

  Oh, well. There’s something much cooler I need to figure out how to do.

  “How about flying?” I ask Lilith eagerly. “How do I do that?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” she says. “When I need it, it just happens.” She floats slightly off her seat, but not so high that the cabby would notice. “I never had to practice flying like I did probability manipulation. All vampire gifts are effortless like that. You just do it, and that’s that.”

  Okey-doke.

  I will myself to fly.

  Nothing happens.

  Maybe I don’t want it badly enough—especially sitting in a moving car as I am?

  I will myself to fly again.

  Still nada.

  Fine. I’ll experiment with it later.

  Since Lilith is staring out the window and not paying attention to me, I use the moment to ponder what my plan should be.

  Do I escape her and rejoin Nero and the rest of the Cognizant on Earth so we can face Tartarus on Lilith’s world, as Nostradamus suggested? Or do I face Tartarus here, on this world, as my mother wants?

  The cab stops at a red light, and a large group of schoolchildren start crossing the road.

  Their faces are cherubic and so innocent that it’s like a bucket of cold water in my face.

  Why is this even a dilemma?

  This is a world with countless people—each someone’s child, mother, father, brother, sister, husband, wife.

  All of these people deserve to keep living as much as everyone on Earth.

  If I can, I should protect them—especially since some of them now believe me to be a superhero of some sort. To paraphrase the famous quote from Spider-Man: when someone imbues you with a great power, you have a great responsibility to them.

  There’s really no other choice.

  I have to try to help them. It’s the only way I’ll be able to live with myself.

  If I survive, at least.

  So that’s that. I’m staying.

  Now I need to figure out what this means when it comes to Lilith.

  Do I still run from her? Or do I go along with her plans?

  Yeah, a hard pass on that last one. There’s a huge problem with what she wants—for Earth Cognizant to stay out of this conflict.

  That’s her greed and folly speaking. We stand a much better chance of defeating Tartarus if I can somehow get the word out to Nero, so he and the others can join and help.

  But how?

  Do I reason with Lilith?

  No. That risks unleashing the sire bond and limiting my freedom significantly.

  If I had Headspace access, I’d be able to reach Rasputin, but there’s no time for me to recover my powers.

  I need some other inter-Otherland form of communication—that or I have to run away and bring the news to Nero personally, a move that seems unlikely to succeed given Lilith’s vigilance and the constant threat of the sire bond.

  Then it hits me.

  I do have an alternate way to communicate from anywhere in the Otherlands.

  All I have to do is trick Lilith into allowing me to utilize it.

  “No matter how much I try, I can’t fly,” I tell Lilith, not faking my frustration. “In general, I feel worn out.” I massage my temples. “If I were still human, I’d say I need a good night’s sleep. Or a vacation. And a spa treatment or two.”

  “You poor dear.” Lilith strokes my back in a bizarrely caring gesture. “You have been through a lot. When I’d just turned, I slept for the first few nights, just to adjust. How about you take a nap when we get to the hotel?”

  “Are you sure?” I yawn, inwardly hooting at my success.

  “I’m positive,” she says, just as the car pulls up to a hotel.

  As we walk through the lobby, a few people look at me with curious expressions.

  “I think they recognize you from your TV escapade,” Lilith whispers. “Until Tartarus arrives, you’re all they’ll be talking about.”

  As if to confirm her theory, a teenage boy accosts us by the elevators, pleading for me to autograph his Rubik’s-cube-looking toy.

  I write “The Amazing Sasha” on the cube, then curse myself for not having thought of a cool superhero name and for having used up all of my probability power on shuffling cards.

  If I still had it, I could’ve created a cool effect where I take the puzzle behind my back, turn it randomly, and sort out the colors thanks to my trickster powers.

  Even if a few squares didn’t align, it would’ve been an impressive feat.

  Oh, well.

  I pull out my deck of cards and perform regular slight-of-hand stuff where the card the boy names ends up in my pocket.

  “How did you do that?” the kid asks, mouth agape.

  “Can you keep a secret?” I whisper to him conspirat
orially.

  “Yeah.” He leans in, his eyes widening.

  “So can I,” I say with a wink, then grab Lilith by the elbow and escape into the elevator.

  Once inside, she presses the 25th floor and says, “You’ll have to teach me some of your conjuring ways. It can help on my world.”

  “Sure.” The elevator stops, and we get out. “But maybe when I’m not feeling so pooped.”

  “Fair enough.” She opens a door, and we enter a bland, TV-less hotel room. “Why don’t you rest now.” She nods at the bed.

  “Yeah.” I take off my shoes. “As I sleep, why don’t you practice this?” I give her one of my cards and show her how to keep it hidden in her hands. “This is called palming—and to master it, I urge you to walk around with this card in your hand until it feels like the most natural thing in the world. You might feel some guilt when palming at first, but—”

  “Guilt isn’t a problem of mine,” Lilith says, awkwardly grabbing the card into her palm.

  The urge to respond to that comment is strong, but I resist it with every shred of self-preservation I possess.

  I’ve come too far to get overtaken by the sire bond over such triviality.

  Lying down on the bed, I close my eyes and say, “Nighty night.”

  “Rest, my dear,” Lilith croons softly, almost maternally.

  Nah. I imagined that last part.

  Lilith is about as maternal as an AK-47.

  Evening out my breathing, I set a new record for how fast I fall asleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  I’m performing the bullet catch, with Nero as my sexy assistant.

  The bullet is in my teeth—and the ovations begin when I notice my family and friends in trouble.

  Before anyone is killed, a familiar figure appears in front of me and freezes time around us, so only she and I can move.

  Yes.

  My plan worked.

  This is a dream, and she is its walker—Bailey.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I cut in before this pleasant dream turned into a nightmare,” Bailey says. “For therapeutic purposes, we—”

  “I’m not here for therapy,” I say urgently. “I went to sleep in the hopes that I’d see you again. I need to send a message to Nero. It’s very important.”

  Bailey blinks at me, and we again find ourselves on a cloud with the never-ending ocean below us.

  “Tell me what the problem is,” she says as the couch appears on the surface of the cloud.

  Pom—her cute companion—materializes here as well, and watches me with his huge, pretty eyes.

  Figuring I might as well get comfy, I take a seat and say, “It’s Lilith. She stole me.”

  I proceed to tell Bailey everything, including the part about Tartarus—how the original plan was to face him on Lilith’s world, and how I think that plan should change based on what I recently learned.

  “How can you be found?” Bailey asks. “That’s the first thing Nero will demand to know.”

  Grateful I memorized it earlier, I give her a step-by-step path from Earth’s JFK hub to this world.

  “Let’s make sure I have it correctly,” Bailey says. But instead of saying it back to me, she shows me a dream of herself walking the route I just described.

  “You got it,” I say and tell her about the hotel I’m currently in. When it’s clear that Bailey has this down too, I ask, “Do you know where Nero actually is?”

  “On Earth, I imagine,” she says. “I myself am on Gomorrah but can be on Earth soon. From there, I’ll just call him.”

  “Good,” I say. “You do that, and I’ll wake up and do my best to handle Lilith in the meanwhile.”

  “Be careful,” Bailey says, stroking Pom. “I still hope to work on your nightmares one day. You’ve had an interesting life so far.”

  I smile at her. “It’s a date. If I survive Tartarus, I’m sure I’ll have brand-new nightmares for your professional enjoyment.”

  With that, I stand up and will myself to wake up.

  It works.

  With a start, I open my eyes in the hotel room.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Not groggy in the slightest, I look around.

  Lilith is nowhere to be seen.

  I get up and spot a handwritten note on the bed next to me.

  Went out to get something to eat. Be back soon.

  -Mommy

  Something to eat? I hope it’s not a small child, or a nun, or a kitten.

  I mindlessly make my way into the bathroom.

  Just my luck—as soon as I decide I don’t need to escape Lilith, she gives me a chance to do so.

  Unless I should run away?

  I can always reconnect with her later, once Tartarus shows up.

  On autopilot, I grab a disposable toothbrush the hotel has provided, squeeze some toothpaste onto it, and attack my teeth.

  Then something clicks in my memory—and a wave of dread follows.

  How could I not have realized this sooner? I had a vision about brushing my teeth in a hotel bathroom!

  I was standing just like this right before—

  My realization comes too late.

  My vampire super-hearing picks up the same noise I heard in my vision—that of someone opening the door and creeping into the room.

  Like in the vision, I don’t even bother spitting as I toss the toothbrush aside, then zoom out of the bathroom with top speed.

  At least I avoid smacking into the giant intruder this time.

  But just barely.

  As I look at him, whatever doubts I had disappear.

  It’s the same growth hormone turned into a man.

  Except he isn’t a man, as I learned. He’s a werewolf.

  I take a step back as some of the puzzle pieces fall into place—the weird circa-eighties hair on his head, the outfit, the polaroid photo.

  It all fits.

  It’s normal on this world.

  I also understand why he lacks the Mandate aura.

  He’s not from Earth.

  This is why Eduardo, the alpha werewolf, was so sure he doesn’t know a werewolf like this.

  I back up some more, recalling what I tried in my vision so I don’t do it again.

  Not that I have many options: it’s either glamour or fight.

  Well, glamour didn’t work—which is disappointing, given that it’s now boosted by faith.

  Unless my vision was of a future where I didn’t go on TV?

  No.

  Can’t risk it.

  This guy might be the local alpha and thus too powerful for glamour—or, for all I know, werewolves just can’t be glamoured.

  Which leaves the option to fight—but that also didn’t work.

  Unless I can do it better this time? Or at least, differently?

  It would be good to stall him and pray Lilith arrives in the nick of time.

  Worth a shot.

  One way to stall is to chat, so I say, “Hi. How can I help you?”

  The guy cocks his head, then looks at the photo in his hand, then back at me. Grunting, he shines with energy.

  Not a talker, this one.

  Just like in my dream, his clothes rip into shreds as he turns into his giant wolf form.

  I back away, my heart hammering more desperately than in my vision.

  Damn the future and its predictable patterns.

  Growling, the werewolf bares his massive teeth and advances on me.

  My fangs extending, I dodge a swipe of his paw—and the corner of the bed gets ruined once more.

  I push my hands into my pockets, pull out all of my remaining flash paper along with a lighter, and blind us both as I light it up.

  He recovers first, and swipes at me with his other paw.

  Knowing how stubborn the future can be, I expected this maneuver, so even though I’m blinded, I twist to the side with supernatural speed, and the dresser gets decimated instead of my face.

  Last time, I kicked him in the ribcage—so I
kick at his head now.

  It doesn’t work any better than in my vision.

  The guy dodges the strike and clamps his teeth on my thigh, just like before.

  Gritting my own teeth in frustration, I strain to keep my balance.

  He tosses me back and forth, and I lose the fight, my head smacking on the corner of a nightstand as I fall. He then drags me through the room.

  Again.

  Flailing, I fight with all my might. If I don’t change the future now, I’m going out the window, and that’s that.

  It doesn’t work.

  His teeth just clamp on me tighter, and he growls as he jerks his head and throws me into the air.

  There’s a familiar moment of weightlessness before my back hits the window.

  Glass shatters around me, slashing my skin as I grapple for the window frame—only to get my palms sliced to shreds as the momentum carries me out.

  This is it.

  I drop like a stone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The adrenaline overdose makes the descent seem slow.

  I marvel at how quickly my head wound and skin lacerations heal, but I also know no healing ability can save me from this fall—or the landing, to be more accurate.

  Plummeting by the nineteenth floor or thereabouts, I recall something important.

  The TV demonstration.

  There should be people out there who believe I can fly.

  I hope.

  I certainly wouldn’t have believed it, and Felix wouldn’t have either. But Ariel might have.

  So yeah. There’s got to be believers out there.

  That, plus the fact that vampires—or at least Lilith—can fly, adds up to potentially good news for me.

  Except I’m not flying.

  I’m falling.

  Why isn’t it working? Lilith said there wasn’t a special technique to it, but when I tried flying in the car, I couldn’t. At that point, I wondered if perhaps I didn’t want it enough—but I do now. I want it more than anything.

  Another floor goes by.

  I will myself to fly with all the desperation born of my current situation.

  Another floor.

  I picture myself lighter than air. I even hum “I Believe I Can Fly”—at least until I recall who sings that song. I then hum “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd instead.