“How many bloody cables are there?” I say out loud to no one in particular. I know the answer—far too many. But if this works, I will personally untangle every cable around this center. I still don’t know what the hell caused the sick lauvan, but if I can prevent them from knotting up the healthy ones and doing any damage, maybe they won’t be a problem.
I stand up slowly, clutching a nearby tree branch. When my tunneling vision clears, I walk over to the edge of the forest where the cable splits into individual lauvan at the base of the mountain. I look up.
The peak of Mt. Linnigan is empty of steam.
At first my mind is blank with shock. Then a slow smile creeps over my face. It worked. It actually worked. Do I even have to untangle the other cables?
But I will, I assure myself somewhat self-righteously. I’ll untangle at least a few more, to be absolutely certain that Wallerton is out of danger. Tomorrow I will come back and focus on cables at intervals around the mountain.
Feeling buoyant, I step back toward the path with a bounce in my step. Then I notice the cable. The yellow lauvan are already spreading out from their bundling and wrapping themselves insidiously around the healthy lauvan. It’s a slow creep, and I only see it on the section I completed first, but it’s unmistakable—all my hard work this afternoon is coming undone.
At the rate it’s going, I expect it will be back to its tangled self by this time tomorrow, and I’ll be back at square one. Suddenly unreasonably angry at the inanimate lauvan, I clench my teeth and plunge my hands into the cable, intent on straightening out the lauvan once more or just teaching it a lesson—I don’t know what I intend.
The sensation I feel makes me freeze on the spot. I don’t know how I know, but there is someone on the other end of this cable.
As I say that, I don’t even know what it means. On the other end? There is no other end of a cable, per se, it simply disperses into lauvan. But I feel the presence of another. And the other is aware of me. It’s angry with me and my untangling—I can feel the fury radiating through my hands.
There’s a crackling as if from a static charge, and I am thrown clear from the cable to hit a pine tree six paces away. My head bangs on the bark and I slither to the ground, stunned.
It takes a minute for my eyes to clear. When they do, the cable twinkles innocently at me. The sick lauvan continue to slowly unfurl from their bundling.
What the hell just happened? What was the presence in the cable, and how did it make me jump so far? I wonder if I would be able to do the same to someone else manipulating the lauvan. I’ve never tried because there was never anyone else.
I shudder involuntarily. Am I not alone? All these years I’ve searched for answers, searched for someone like me. I thought it was something I wanted. Now I’m not so sure.
My mind alights briefly on Anna and her lauvan-touching, but dismisses it quickly. The necklace she wore gave her lauvan-sensing abilities, but she was so clumsy that it was obviously a new skill. Whoever pushed me through the cable knew exactly what they were doing, and used the lauvan as if born to it. Like me. Or better than me.
I pick myself up off the ground and wince at my pounding head. This is no good. I’ll never manage the transformation into a bird without being able to concentrate, and it’s way too far to walk back to the car. I reach around to feel the lump on the back of my head. It’s tender to the touch and dizziness threatens to overtake me when I press too hard. I lift my hand a hair’s breadth and feel out the thickening of my lauvan that have twisted themselves together above my bruise.
I’m lucky—it’s only a minor twisting instead of a knot. I would be at it for hours if there were a knot I had to untangle without looking behind my head.
I massage the lauvan gently until they loosen and release their tension. The pain in my head lessens considerably. My talents come in handy at a time like this.
Now that I’m not blinded by pain, I notice that the sun is slanting at a sharp angle through the trees. Tired and defeated, I prepare to transform. I’ll have to regroup and try something new in the morning.
Before I transform, my phone rings. Jen’s number is on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Merry! I’m in town! Where do you want to meet for dinner?”
My head is still foggy with the after-effects of my fall and distracted from all the questions before me, but my stomach hears the word “dinner” and loudly voices its approval.
“There’s only one real restaurant in town.”
“Yeah, I saw it. On the corner, green siding, lots of trucks out front?”
“That’s the one. Meet you there in half an hour?” I need time to fly and drive. I look down at my dirty clothes, wet with sweat, and grimace. “Better make that an hour. I need a shower.”
“Done,” Jen says. “See you then.”
***
My flight back to the car is uneventful. Thankfully, I encounter no prey on the way, as I don’t think I can resist the urge to attack and fill my roaring stomach. Once in the car, I flip on the radio and turn the dial, trying to find a local station.
“…and our correspondent on the ground reports a reduction of the seismic activity that has plagued the area around Mt. Linnigan for the past four days. Officials have declined to comment, but our sources tell us that scientists are unaware of what is causing this new development. Perhaps Mt. Linnigan is preparing to sleep again.”
I grunt and hit the button to silence the announcer. I’ve given myself a brief reprieve to figure out how to fix this. I wonder if the presence will be there when I go back to untangle again. Perhaps I can reach out to it first. Fight fire with fire.
I’m heartened by this thought. Maybe there’s a way out of this after all. I can incapacitate the presence, fix the volcano, and be the hero—to myself, at least. And then maybe I can find out where the presence is and finally get some answers. Is there someone else like me out there?
I gun it down the highway to Wallerton, take a quick shower and change clothes at my hotel, and stroll into the restaurant at the appointed time. It took me a few lifetimes, but I’m now adept at time management.
Jen waits for me in a booth on the side. She gives me a hug which I gladly return. Her hair tickles my cheek.
“This is so bizarre that we’re both here.” Jen laughs.
“Funny old world,” I say.
The waitress comes up then and gives us menus. She looks at me askance. She must have seen me leave with Anna last night, and now I’m chatting up another woman. I smile blandly at her.
“Two lagers, please.”
She nods, gives me the most insincere smile I’ve seen in decades, and leaves. It’s moments like these that make me remember why I love living in the city—the anonymity afforded there is a welcome relief from the nosiness of small-town life.
“So, what are you doing here?” Jen selects a piece of bread from the basket the waitress left and tears it apart with her long, thin fingers. She looks good—fresh-faced, eyes bright, a cute red sundress under a black cardigan. No wonder the waitress looked at me funny. Jen is quite the contrast to Anna’s tight white jeans. I feel old and tired compared to Jen. The Mt. Linnigan mystery weighs heavily on my mind. Lack of food and sleep don’t help.
“Oh, I couldn’t face marking any more essays on Friday, so I just started driving,” I say. I grab my own piece of bread and pop it into my mouth. “Oh god, that’s good,” I say between chews. “I’m starving.”
Jen stares at me with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.
“So you just—left? When are you going to mark?”
“Relax. Marks aren’t due until next week.” I take another piece of bread.
“What did you do here today, then?”
“Hiking, mainly. There are some great trails.” At least this is partly true, as well as believable. Jen knows I go to the mountains a lot in Vancouver.
Jen’s face lights up.
“Which trails did you hike? I used to come up
here every summer with my parents growing up. My mom’s parents used to own a cabin nearby. My brother and I would hike all over and swim in Lake Carnarvon.”
Uh oh. The only trail name I remember is the Michelson Lookout, which is currently off-limits to hikers.
“Mmm, I don’t remember the names. I drove west down a logging road and found a path somewhere there.”
“Oh.” Jen looks a little disappointed. I wish I could give her more.
“Hey, congrats on your new job, by the way.”
Just then the waitress arrives with our beers. She places Jen’s down in front of her with a smile, and drops mine none-too-gently in front of me before leaving. Her lauvan are all sweet curves toward Jen and sharp angles when she faces me. I try not to roll my eyes, and raise my glass in a toast.
“Here. To all your successes.”
Jen’s cheeks grow pink and she smiles. We clink our glasses and drink.
“When do you start work?” I ask once I’ve swallowed.
“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock,” Jen says. “A car’s going to pick me up from the hotel, and my client and I will drive to the volcano site and talk to the officials and scientists there.”
“You’re going right to the mountain?” Now I’m worried. The base camp is really close to ground zero should an eruption occur. Given the rate the lauvan are tangling, I think it’ll be okay until midday tomorrow. It should last. Probably. There are a lot of knots in a lot of lauvan-cables, and I don’t know if things are getting worse all over. I’ll be out at first light tomorrow, but still. I don’t want Jen getting hurt.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Mt. Linnigan is an active volcano, and the scientists don’t seem to know what’s going on or when it will blow.”
Jen shrugs nonchalantly.
“I’m sure it’s fine. There are a ton of people at the base camp, so it can’t be that risky. Apparently they’ve set up shop on a ridge that would be somewhat protected if there were a lava flow.”
I can see her mind is set, so I don’t push it further. I just make myself a promise to be there first thing so I can get a handle on this before Jen arrives, or at least buy a little time until she’s gone. I wonder a bit about myself—what about the other people at the base camp?—but there’s no shame in some personalized motivation. I’ve been working hard on fixing this already—now I have some added incentive.
Jen goes to grab another piece of bread, then looks up to my right. I feel someone slide into the booth next to me and a hand touches my leg. Purple lauvan float in front of my vision.
“Hello, Merry.” Anna’s voice breathes into my ear.
Crap. This is a complexity I didn’t anticipate. I should have—this is the only place in town worth visiting, and this is where I met Anna last night. I just wasn’t thinking. I was too hungry, too flustered—I don’t know.
Jen looks between me and Anna, back and forth, her eyebrows raised so high that her forehead wrinkles. Out of the corner of my eye I see the waitress snickering. In a flash of annoyance I find some lauvan under the table and tweak them. The next instant, a pitcher of beer tips over on the bar counter and the waitress scrambles for a tea towel.
The waitress dealt with, I turn to the situation at hand.
“Hi, Anna.” I try to appear cool and collected. “Anna, this is my friend Jen. Jen, this is—” I flounder for what to say. “Well, Jen, meet Anna.”
Jen looks confused, but sticks out her hand anyway.
“Hi, Anna. It’s nice to meet you.”
Anna languidly extends her own. At the same time, she caresses my leg. I tense, but try not to react. I move my hand slowly down to my lap to push her away without Jen noticing.
“Likewise,” Anna says. She turns to me. “I just wanted to say hello.” She finds my hand under the table and sits the heel of her palm on my wrist to trap it. I can’t wriggle free without being very obvious, and Jen is already more than curious. Anna continues. “I also wanted to say that sometimes when you visit a new place, it can be even better the second time around.” Her fingers pat the air above my hand until they find my lauvan, and she grips one between her finger and thumb and rolls it gently.
I can’t help myself. My eyes close involuntarily and my breath sucks in as the sensation hits me, deep and far-reaching. Anna doesn’t belabor the point. She removes her hand and stands up.
“I’ll leave you two to your dinner,” she says, before sashaying to the door.
Jen and I are silent for a moment. I’m disgusted with myself for acting like a lust-driven teenager in front of Jen. I’m too old to not be able to control myself. But that sensation is so new, so different, so tantalizing—I feel young again, experiencing something for the first time. It’s been a very long while since I’ve had that pleasure.
“Well,” Jen says after an awkward pause. “Umm…” She laughs with a mixture of embarrassment and humor. “I guess I know why you came up here, then. Hiking? Really, Merry.”
“What?” What is she thinking? “I didn’t come up here to meet…” I sigh. “Sorry, Jen. That was—unnecessary.”
“Whatever.” She eyes me and bursts out laughing. “Oh, Merry, you should see your face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you embarrassed before.” I don’t respond, and she tsks. “So you’re human, and I found out. No biggie.” She chuckles again and opens her menu. “Come on. Let’s order.”
***
I walk Jen to the hotel after dinner and leave her at the lobby, citing the need for a walk. She punches my arm.
“A walk, sure. See you later, Merry.” She wink-squints at me and turns to the elevator.
I really do mean to go for a walk. I need to clear my head. It was a very confusing day, with too many revelations and mysteries cropping up. I need to think, to plan for tomorrow.
That really is my intention, I swear. But after a few minutes of strolling, my mind buzzing with more questions than answers, I find myself on the road outside Anna’s apartment.
I guess Jen knows my intentions better than I do.
I curse and do an about-turn on my heel. I try to keep my mind on plans for tomorrow, but now all I can think about is Anna. Her hair flowing down her shoulder and curling around her naked breast, her deep throaty laugh, her finger on my lauvan—it’s no use.
I stop in front of the restaurant, thinking. Maybe this is an opportunity in disguise. Anna seems entangled in something strange. The lauvan-infused necklace, for one, is worth investigating. Sylvana has one too, and there was definitely something going on with that spirit invocation she did. Anna’s inordinate interest in the volcano is puzzling, too, and might be worth checking out. Maybe there’s a connection that could prove useful for my inquiries.
The problem with having a fifteen hundred year-old mind is that I can recognize when I’m rationalizing bad decisions to myself. The problem with having a thirty year-old body is that I don’t care.
I stride purposefully up the parking lot to the side of the restaurant where there is an attached beer and wine store. It’s a bit gauche to turn up on Anna’s doorstep empty-handed.
An electronic bell chimes when I enter, and a fluorescent light flickers above my head. Classy joint. Ahead of me in the tiny store are an empty shop counter and an open door behind it, leading to what looks like a hallway to a storeroom. I turn to the shelf on my right and quickly scan labels of the wine bottles stacked there. I select a French wine I recognize—it’s a favorite of mine, partially for the flavor and partially because it’s from the region I lived in for a number of years in the ninth century—and place it on the counter.
Before I need to look for a bell to ring, a man bustles in through the open doorway. He wears an apron and rolled-up sleeves. He’s obviously doing double-duty tonight in the restaurant and in here.
“Sorry about that. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“It’s fine,” I say, digging into my pocket for my wallet. He takes my credit card and rings the sale through.
“Are you staying for long in Wallerton? We’re all in an uproar here, not sure whether to stay or go. This volcano business is nerve-racking, eh? In fact, tomorrow I’m driving the wife and kids to the in-laws in Kamloops for a holiday. Just until we know, one way or other, you know?” He hands back my card and bags the bottle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just all any of us can talk about these days.”
“I understand. Have a good drive tomorrow.” I take the bottle from him and make my retreat.
Come hell or high water, I will figure this out in the morning. This center has been unstable for long enough. Even if I have to untangle every cable myself and tie them up with my own lauvan, I will fix this.
At the entrance to the apartment, I search the list of buttons for Anna’s name. Near the top is a Jacqueline Appleton.
“Sorry, Sylvana,” I say quietly. “Looks like you’ll have to break out the earplugs again.”
Anna answers the buzzer after a few seconds’ wait.
“Hello?” Her voice is pitched low and throaty in a come-hither way. She needn’t have bothered—I’m already here.
“It’s Merry.”
A buzz tone answers for her and the door clicks. I walk through the hallway on my left, and remember the breathless roll of our bodies against the wall the last time I entered this threshold. When I knock on 102 it swings open, unlatched. I push it gingerly.
Anna perches on the arm of her couch, dressed in a red silk dressing gown that barely covers the tops of her thighs. I look her up and down approvingly. She smiles in satisfaction.
“Mmm, wine. Good. I was just heading to the shower. Make yourself at home.” She slides off the couch and saunters to the bathroom. She leaves the door ajar and a minute later the water starts to run.
I shed my coat and hang it on a hook behind the door. The couch beckons, but my attention is distracted by movement in the bedroom. I look more closely. Anna’s shirt is on the bed, the one she wore this afternoon when we met at the mountain. Its green and white stripes shiver and move in the dim light that streams onto the bed from a lamp in the living room.
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