Psychic Spiral (of Death)

by Amie Gibbons

  I grumbled and crossed my arms.

  She had a point.

  “What would time travel take?” Mama asked.

  Carvi rolled his eyes and took another drag, letting it out in a dramatic huff.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said. “It’s just this side of impossible. Otherwise everyone would do it.”

  “But you have,” AB said.

  “Yes, with a very specific place, time, and goal in mind. We don’t even know when to go back to.”

  I flashed back to the river of power I’d ridden.

  That I’d been a part of.

  “But we can figure it out,” I said.

  Carvi’s head snapped toward me so fast I was surprised I didn’t hear a crack.

  “That river I was in, inside the vision or whatever,” I said. “I didn’t understand what I was seeing, but I knew things. I know I could see the difference in the stream, when something had changed. I can’t say when that was in terms of time as we know it, but if we go back a few years, I can see if it’s changed yet, and just do that a few times. And I can go into that and try to narrow down the time closer until we’re before the change, then look for the change.”

  Carvi scowled. “Do you have any idea-”

  “No,” I interrupted. “You’re right. I have no clue how much power it’ll take to jump through time. But I can see that stream, and narrow down where the discrepancy happened, at least close enough for our purposes. Then I just have to get a vision of the girl I sensed in there while we’re before the change that was made, figure out who her parents are, then we come back, track them down now, and go see what they did.

  “We only have to figure out who did it and how. That’s it. We don’t have to figure out what happened to the girl or anything, just who went back in time and how they did it.”

  Carvi clenched his jaw so hard I was surprised his teeth didn’t break.

  “We still need the power,” he said, lifting the cigarette half to his lips, looking at it, and shaking his head, stabbing it into the table.

  “We have Pyro’s threads,” Quil said.

  I put my hand to my forehead. “Duh. I forgot about those. I have a whole box of them back home too.”

  “Yeah, they’re a lot of help back in Nashville,” Carvi snapped.

  “We can travel through time,” I said. “You’re telling me we can’t teleport a bag here?”

  Carvi’s jaw locked and he glared at me.

  “That’s a yep,” I said.

  “It’s still a huge spell,” Carvi said. “Even if we have the power, we still need a catalyst. Why do you think we flew to Miami to pick up a cell phone instead of teleporting it?”

  “I thought we flew cuz we figured the trail to follow was in Miami, so we’d have had to be there anyway. If there had been a trail to follow, which there wasn’t, which is still botherin’ me, but that’s not important right now.” I pointed at him. “You’re trying to distract me.”

  He glared at me.

  “We still need a catalyst,” he said again.

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Of course you don’t. Because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  I flinched.

  “Carvagio,” Quil said, his voice light.

  “Don’t say it,” Carvi said.

  “Say what?” me, Mama and AB asked as one.

  “Ariana could be the catalyst,” Quil said. “At least for the initial jump.”

  Wait, what?

  “She doesn’t have the juice,” Carvi said.

  “She ripped a hole through dimensions. That’s impossible,” Quil said. “At least there are spells for time travel. There’s nothing for what she did. We have the power, you have the knowledge, and she has… whatever made it so she could rip that hole.”

  “She’s lucky that didn’t take out both dimensions, or worse!”

  “Yes, but she ripped a hole and it’s healing, isn’t it?” Quil stared him down. “Which you know, because you told me. So that’s an irrelevant segue. Because you don’t want to do this.”

  What were we missing?

  It wasn’t like Carvi didn’t pull massive feats of power all the time.

  In July, he brought himself back from the dead and rebuilt his body. Last week, he powered the spell to anchor nineteen men back in their bodies after they’d been murdered and trapped in limbo.

  “You’re scared,” Mama said, resting her chin on her hand and leaning forward, studying Carvi like she was memorizing him for future use in books.

  Carvi turned his head very slowly, meeting her eyes with a look I knew all too well.

  Mama gasped, face going slack.

  “Carvi!” I said. “Leave my mama alone.”

  “I am not afraid of anything,” he said.

  “Carvi,” AB said in a small voice, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm, “please look at me.”

  He sighed and turned to her.

  But Mama stayed right where she was, with that blank look on her face.

  “Carvi,” AB said, inching forward so she was standing practically up against his body, “you seem to be reacting like me when I’m dealing with Thomas. Like there’s a block you won’t go around. What is it?”

  She knew better than to ask what it was that he was afraid of.

  “I can’t go back in time,” Carvi said, “because I made the decision after I saw I could not balance the forces, not to. If I go back, the temptation… you have no idea.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath and closed my eyes for a moment.

  Ohhhhh.

  The temptation to save Milo if we were anywhere before his death would be too great.

  “But you know the consequences,” Quil said. “Decide, right now, you will not stray off the path. That you will not allow yourself to even glance at him psychically.”

  Carvi and Quil locked eyes over AB’s head.

  And I didn’t have to be psychic to know they were debating something.

  “Guys?” I said after a moment. “Can we have this discussion out loud?”

  Could I eavesdrop on their psychic conversation?

  “Do you have any idea what it is like,” Carvi started, words slow and clipped, “to be handed the opportunity to get what you want most in the world, and have to look it in the eyes and say no?”

  AB and I exchanged a look.

  “Depending how far back we go, probably,” I said. “I know AB and I would both undo what was done to us.” I put up my hands as Carvi’s jaw tightened. “I know it is nothing compared to losing your brother, I know that, but it’s the closest I’ve got.”

  “Let’s talk,” Quil said, nodding at Carvi.

  They walked out of the kitchen and I heard the door open and close.

  “Where did they go?” Mama asked, making me jump.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I… think so. What happened?”

  “Carvi whammied you.”

  Mama blinked and stood up, taking her mug into the kitchen. “Well, that’s terrifying.”

  She filled her mug and put in her milk and sugar.

  Calm as anything.

  “Coffee, AB?” Mama asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” AB said.

  Mama poured coffees and put the milk and sugar on the table.

  We made up our coffees and sat around sipping.

  “Do you want to talk?” Mama asked, flicking her eyes up at AB.

  “I… is it that obvious?” AB grinned.

  “I’m a writer and a mother. I know what certain facial expressions, silences, thousand-yard stares and the like mean.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” AB said.

  “I know the basics, but why don’t you walk me through what happened?”

  AB nodded and took a long sip.

  She told Mama the quick version of her story with Thomas.

  Her face was screwed up by the time she was done, and she stared into her now empty co
ffee mug like it held the answers to the universe.

  “Throwing a glass across the room and watching it shatter isn't how adults deal with anger, is it?” AB asked.

  “That'd be a no,” Mama said.

  “So what do adults do when they feel like this?”

  “They take that glass and put wine in it.”

  AB didn’t even crack a smile.

  Mama took a deep breath. “Honey, let me ask you something. How many times has he flipflopped on you? Was into you, your friend, friendly, saying he wanted to work things out, whatever, and then turned into Mr. Hyde and was an ass to you and accusing you of things, blew you off, or just outright ignored you?”

  AB blew out a breath. “More times than I can count. That’s all our entire relationship has been, really.”

  “Okay,” Mama said. “Honey, don't waste your energy caring about someone who doesn't care about you. It’s easier said than done, but I want you to keep a few things in mind.

  “Did he ever act like he owed you anything? Any respect, kindness, friendship, time, empathy? Anything?”

  AB flinched, looking away.

  “I didn’t think so,” Mama said. “So, if he comes back, saying how he feels left out or whatever bullshit you said he was feedin’ you, tell him too bad, you don't owe him a damn thing.”

  I grinned.

  Mama had said something similar to me way back in high school.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” AB said, voice so small I almost didn’t hear her. “I don’t think he’s coming back after that. I can’t believe the things he was saying.” Her voice picked up pitch and speed. “He said I was crazy, and this was all on me, and that I didn’t have my shit together. He’s the one who blew my shit all over the place!”

  “AB.” Mama took her hands and AB looked at her. Mama nodded, staring her in the eyes and AB relaxed into her chair. “Stop. Just stop. When you're dealing with a liar, a user, a cold-hearted asshole, a narcissist, or someone who just doesn't give a damn about you...”

  She paused.

  “Walk away.”

  She squeezed AB’s hands, still holding her eyes.

  “Just walk away, honey,” Mama continued. “It won't fix you. You'll need therapy or something for that. I don't know what works for you. But it will keep him from doing more damage to you.

  “There's a Paramour song with a few lines that fit here. I'm paraphrasing, but it's something like second chances don't matter. People never change. Once a whore, nothing more, that'll never change.

  “He will always be a user. He will always be a whore.”

  AB snorted.

  “People don't change, honey,” Mama said. “No matter how much we want them to.”

  “But he does,” AB said. “That’s kind of part of the problem. He’s so sweet and saying he wants to help me and make this right.

  “When this all came back up again, at first, he was offering to help me with the issues, said he knew some mental techniques and cognitive reprogramming he’s helped his patients with, and he could teach me. I mean, we never got around to doing that and it seemed awkward, and then everything blew up, but it was sweet. And then he just bailed.”

  She looked Mama in the eyes. “I miss him. I keep seeing the faces he makes in certain situations. Like that giant goofy grin he’d get when we went shooting. The way he was bawling when his divorce went through. Him throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes dramatically when we’d get into our issues.”

  She paused. “Him sighing and sagging and looking so grateful with this big thank you when I did something for him, like running to grab his phone cord during a meeting, or distracting him on the separation anniversary day, or cooking him dinner.”

  A tear ran out from under her glasses.

  “Why do I miss him? How… Oh god, I was about to ask how to get him back.”

  She sniffed and closed her eyes, face wrinkling up.

  Mama squeezed her hand again. “There are very few things in life that hurt worse than missing somebody who doesn't miss you, but you can't make someone come back. Reviving a dead relationship may not be as difficult as raisin’ the dead, but it's pretty damn close, and they both end in the same way, you dealing with a zombie.”

  I let out a short laugh but AB just gave Mama sad, dead eyes.

  AB took a deep breath. “I’m trying to be strong. But I don’t know what that is here. And I keep flipping. What's strong? Staying or leaving? Because I'm hearing both are what make you strong, and I'm bouncing between them.”

  “Strong is staying when you need to stay, and leaving when you need to leave,” Mama said.

  AB furrowed her brow. “But that's not... How do you know which one applies!”

  “That, my dear, is called wisdom. You have strength. It's wisdom you lack.”

  AB slumped. “I… I don’t know. He traumatized me, but what if he didn’t mean to? If he’s saying he wants to work things out, then I want to too. But then he changes his mind.”

  Mama shook her head. “If you have someone who says something one day, and the exact opposite later, then they're either lying to you and think you're too stupid to remember what they said before, or they're lying to themselves. And it can be hard to tell which one it is.”

  Mama paused, smirking. “Unless they're a politician. If they're a politician, it's always the first one.”

  AB barked a laugh and I shot Mama a look. “Daddy’s running.”

  “Yes, but he’s not a politician. He’s an honest man who is throwing himself into public service if they’ll have him.” Her lip curled up. “Senator Charleston, now that man is a politician.”

  She said it like it was a dirty word.

  AB looked between us.

  “One of our senators in Tennessee,” I said. “He’s a user and had a hand in me being kidnapped by a serial killer.”

  “Oh!” I waved a hand as her eyes flew wide. “Not on purpose. He was just tryin’ to use me to find the guy’s connections, and then the guy got out and it was a whole thing. The director was in on it too. Mama punched her.”

  Mama sat up, straightening her shirt. “You have a hand in hurting my baby girl and I start fixin’ to do something mighty unchristian. I’m not proud of it.”

  It was my turn to snort as a smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

  Yeah, she was.

  “And you’re still working for her?” AB asked. “I would’ve quit after that.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t stop helping people just because of one bad boss,” I said, pressing my lips together and shaking my head. “But of course, I could always strike out on my own.”

  AB sighed. “But you didn’t start really considering it until last week?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you want to work on your own? What would you do? Be a PI?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yeah, that’d be it, I guess. I honestly don’t know what I want right now. I know I don’t want to deal with Grant. Don’t want to face him after last week, especially since…”

  I bit my tongue.

  “What?” AB asked.

  I looked up at Mama and she smiled.

  She got it.

  “Since he hasn’t checked on me,” I said. “I have assassins after me. I could be dead for all he knows. And he hasn’t bothered to check to see if I’m alive.”

  AB looked at me and I shook my head.

  I hadn’t consciously recognized how much that hurt.

  Grant knew people were trying to kill me.

  And he didn’t care.

  He didn’t care if I was alive or dead.

  My heart ached.

  I shoved it down harder than I’d ever shoved any emotion down before.

  I wouldn’t be able to function if I didn’t.

  “AB,” I said, blinking back tears, “you want to know what the difference between a fight and a breakup is?”

  Her forehead scrunched up again.

  She really did wear everything she
thought on her face.

  “A fight means you're workin’ through it and trying to find common ground so you have a chance to fix things,” I said. “A breakup is when one or both don't care to try.

  “If he's calling and you're emailing, then it's not a breakup, cuz you're both trying.”

  She looked down.

  “I have a breakup,” I said. “Mine has not bothered to even check if I'm still alive when there are assassins after me and I am legitimately in mortal danger.”

  My voice didn’t crack or waver as I said it.

  Good for me.

  “Yours. Still. Cares,” I said. “He was horrible to you in there, and he turned away, and I think you nailed the reasons for that. I think he’s gonna need therapy too cuz he’s in serious denial and all that. But he was asking for your friendship before he did that. Call him. Even if you end up screaming at each other, at least you're talkin'. Mine won't even bother to do that. Before we do this. Before we risk our lives. Call him. At least to say this might be goodbye.”

  “We really risking our lives here?” AB asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I've never risked my life before. I mean, not going into danger on purpose.”

  I shrugged. “It's kinda like sex. First time's a big deal, then you get used to it.”

  Mama and AB both burst out laughing and I grinned.

  “I want to call him, but that’s because I feel like I have to do something,” AB said. “So that probably means I shouldn’t. I’ll have to ask Carvi.”

  “Why are you asking him?” Mama asked.

  “You know the voice in your head telling you to do or not to do something if it's wrong or stupid or hurtful?” AB said.

  “Yes.”

  “Mine's broken. I have no clue what's right, what's smart, or how to deal with any of this. So I'm basically just listening to Carvi right now.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait,” I said. “So, what you're saying is Carvi, morally ambiguous, has killed in cold blood, playboy vampire Carvi, is playing Jiminy Cricket?”

  “To my Pinocchio,” she said, nodding. “Only difference is I have a conscience, just noooooo sense whatsoever.”

  “And Carvi's the opposite.” I nodded.

  “I have a conscience,” Carvi said outta nowhere, making me jump and AB squeak.

  He walked into the kitchen, Quil right behind.

  “It's like my filter,” Carvi said. “I have one; I mostly choose not to use it.”