Miles and the Magic Flute

by Heidi Cullinan

  Miles heard something else, something more than his own breathing and the quiet hum of the computer. Something soft and distant. Click. Click. Click. The snap of women’s heels on tile, except these were no points of stilettos. They were heavy points. Click, click, click, and behind that, something dragging.

  From not very far away, Miles heard a snort and a huff, like an animal.

  Hooves. Hooves could make that heavy clicking sound.

  And something dead killed by something with hooves could be the dragging.

  Terror whipped up inside Miles, and he deliberately did not breathe.

  He might have stayed there forever, frozen in terror, but eventually he began to notice an odd sensation on his left hand where he wore the silver ring. At first it seemed to pinch, and then it itched, and then it became warm, and then warmer, and then warmer still, and then Miles let go of the mouse and tugged on it, gasping in pain as he tried to get it off his finger. When he succeeded, he cried out in relief, then despair as he felt it fall from his fingers and clatter loudly on what sounded like a stone floor.

  Across the room, Miles heard the huffing sound again, followed by a low, angry growl.

  Heart pounding, Miles fumbled for the mouse, moving it quickly but carefully across the surface of the desk.

  The mouse went click.

  The light came back.

  Miles was in the office again.

  He was sitting at the computer, the familiar room all around him, just like it had always been there. Except Miles’s mouse hand shook. Sweat rolled down his cheeks, and he didn’t move until the sharp breeze kicked in through the window. In a trance, he rose and shut it, then stood gripping the sill for several seconds. When the computer made another soft click behind him, he jumped as if it were a gunshot, but when he dared to look, he saw that it had simply shifted into screensaver mode. Cheerful photos of Julie and her baked goods faded in and out of the screen.

  You’re tired. You hardly slept last night. You’re emotionally drained. You probably read a book like this recently, or saw a movie. The excuses made so much sense, and they should have been comforting. They were, too, until Miles took a deep breath to center himself. And that’s when he realized that something was really, really wrong.

  He still couldn’t smell the dye. The dye smelled sharp and sour, like vegetables and vinegar, which, knowing Julie, was exactly what it was. He couldn’t smell it at all.

  But the stench from the cave was stronger than ever.

  Miles made no conscious decision to leave the room. One second he stood there freaking out, and the next he was in the hall, bolting for the kitchen. He skidded around the corner, slammed into the broom cupboard, then clung to the door as if at any moment a great wind might whip up and take him away.

  “Miles!” Julie put down her wooden spoon and hurried over. “What happened? You’re white as a sheet!”

  Miles didn’t even know how to begin. “I don’t know, but I think I’m hallucinating.”

  Julie gave him a sharp look. “Did you take anything?”

  He realized she meant drugs. “No!” he said angrily. He rubbed the side of his face. “I think I’m just stressed.” He winced as his ring finger began to throb, and when he looked down he saw an angry red circle where the silver ring had been.

  “You hurt yourself,” Julie said, pointing to his finger, and reached for the first aid kit. “Here,” she said, handing it to him, then headed to the refrigerator. “Put some salve on that, and I’ll make you a protein shake.” She hauled several jugs and containers out of the fridge and set them beside the blender. “And then I’ll do your cards too.” She frowned and nodded at his other hand. “What’s that?”

  Miles looked down. He was holding the flute case in his right hand. Funny, he didn’t remember picking it up.

  “Something somebody brought in to the pawn shop this morning.” He set it down carefully on the table before sitting in the chair farthest from it. “I was researching it for Patty on the Internet, and all of a sudden everything went weird.”

  “Define ‘weird’,” Julie prompted, as she scooped soy yogurt and protein powder into the blender.

  “The whole room went black, and it smelled funny. Like a dungeon. And I heard footsteps.” He wiped his hand over his mouth and shook his head. “I must have nodded off or something. Either that or I’m crazy. And I don’t have insurance enough to be crazy.”

  “You’re probably low on vitamins,” Julie said, her tone scolding. “And you should cut out dairy and gluten for the rest of the week.”

  “When did dairy and gluten start making people hallucinate?” Miles asked, a little more caustically than he meant to.

  “We aren’t meant to digest bovine enzymes. You’d be amazed at how your health would improve if you gave them up. And more people have gluten allergies than we think.” She turned on the blender, and for a moment the sound was like a cleansing white noise. Then she snapped it off, poured the shake into a glass and brought it over to Miles. “Drink this, and tell me you don’t feel better.”

  It tasted like sweet grass. But Miles drank it anyway, willing to do just about anything right now so long as the smells and light stayed right. When Julie sat down across from him with a tattered paisley bag, though, Miles held up his hands.

  “No,” Miles said, wiping his soy mustache away. “Julie, I hate those things.”

  “There’s wisdom in Tarot cards.” She pulled shiny black cards from the bag and shuffled them. “If you’re hallucinating, they can help you figure out what messages your mind is trying to send you.”

  Miles glowered but said nothing more, tensing as he watched the cards slide through her hands. They don’t work, he reminded himself. And they didn’t. The last time Julie had done this, she’d told him he’d meet his true love in a journey across water and that he’d soon be in the job of his dreams after a period of struggle. Almost immediately after that he’d been laid off, and there was nothing dreamy about working for Patty. He’d taken a journey across water, too, just before the layoff: a gay cruise down in the Keys. He’d come home with nothing but crabs.

  But even though he knew it was all garbage, Miles still felt uneasy whenever Julie laid out his cards, and this time was no exception. He held his breath as she laid out first one card, then another, then another, until five cards lay between them, each one more beautiful and terrible than the last.

  Julie frowned.

  “Are they bad?” Miles asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He couldn’t stop looking at them. They certainly looked bad. The names weren’t helpful, either. “Devil.” “The Tower.” The next one had no name, just a shitload of swords sticking into someone’s back as they lay in a pool of their own blood. The fourth was the only good one: it was called “The Star,” and it looked quite beautiful, actually.

  But the fifth card was “Death.”

  Julie caught him looking at the last card and shook her head. “That card doesn’t mean you’re going to die. It means change.”

  “Then why the hell doesn’t it say ‘Change’?” Miles demanded. He couldn’t seem to lift his eyes from the skeletal figure with a scythe riding an equally bony horse.

  “Because humans experience all change as if it is a death.” But she was still frowning. “What I don’t understand is why that’s your final outcome card. It’d make perfect sense in your past, because of your job. But your past is apparently full of obsession and lust and greed.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The Tower makes sense in the present,” Julie went on, ignoring him. “Your whole world is coming down around your ears, and you need to rebuild. But the Ten of Swords there?” She tapped the stabbed man absently. “You must still be working through some of your frustration at being laid off. Except I’m wondering if it’s not more than that.” She tapped again, then shifted her attention to the next card. “This one is beautiful. Your heart’s desire, your true self. Your wishes come true. But why you’re wishing for death, I don’t
know.”

  “You said it was change,” Miles said, a little desperately.

  “Big change,” Julie said. “Losing your job kind of change. Moving across the country change. Radical restructuring. Essentially, what you’ve already done.”

  “No offense,” Miles said, “but I don’t want to live in your spare bedroom and work in the pawn shop forever.”

  Julie waved an impatient hand at him. “Right now is a transitional time. But this is saying you need to rebuild again.” She tapped the stabbed man again. “First, though, you must face the fears you are trying to hide from.”

  Miles thought of the manky, pitch-black cavern he’d imagined in the bedroom and felt slightly sick. He pushed the protein shake away. “Julie, you aren’t helping. What does this have to do with my hallucinations?”

  Julie bit her lip and gathered the cards again. She shut her eyes, murmured under her breath as she shuffled, then abruptly laid down two more cards.

  Miles sucked in his breath.

  The Devil was back again, looking like a satyr on his throne, holding a naked man and woman prisoner with chains he clasped loosely in one hand. But the other card said “The Emperor,” and it was the most beautiful card Miles had ever seen.

  The Emperor was cold, but he was so handsome he made Miles’s teeth ache. He was tall and thin, his face elegant and cool, his eyes dark and almost invisible inside his sockets. Long golden hair streamed out behind him as if in an unseen wind, a lovely contrast to the fawn and cream colors of his costume. He was sheathed in a soft white robe, and he held a silver scepter in his hand. He stared out from the card and straight into Miles’s eyes. And even though Julie’s pot of dye still sat on the stove, as Miles stared down at the image of the Emperor, he swore he smelled summer again.

  “Two men,” Julie said quietly. “You’ll meet two men. One of them will be your destruction. The other will be your salvation.” She laid down one more card. It was a woman, blindfolded, holding crossed swords above her head. “But do not trust your eyes. Trust in truth, and wisdom, and in your heart.”

  Miles couldn’t stop looking at the golden Emperor. “So I’ll either be destroyed or saved, depending on what I chose?”

  “No,” Julie said, a little faintly. “You’ll be destroyed. Then saved.” She bit her lip and gathered up the cards. “I don’t know. Let me do some research. This reading just gets weirder the more I look at it.”

  Miles ached a little when the Emperor disappeared, but then he blinked and sat back, feeling clearer. “Julie, it’s okay. I appreciate all this, really—but I think you’re reading too much into it. Pardon the pun.” He cleared his throat. “It’s all just that I’m still upset over losing my job. It makes sense.”

  But Julie was shaking her head. “It’s more than that, Miles. You have some seriously bad energy here. It’s kind of scaring me.”

  And now you’re scaring me right back. “Hey—how about I go into town and see about talking to somebody? I can go to the Unitarian minister or something. He won’t charge me, and maybe he can hook me up with a community liaison that can get me a discount counseling rate for the uninsured and unemployed. Will that make you feel better?”

  Julie went to the counter and picked up her purse. “Actually, what I want is for you to stop by Katie’s. I have a few things I need from her. I’ll give you a list.”

  Miles blinked as Julie handed him a list and a twenty. “What—again?”

  “Yes.” Julie looked at him expectantly.

  “You want me to go now?” Miles asked. He gestured to the cards. “That’s it? You’re just going to tell me I need to metaphorically die and rebuild my whole life, more than I already have, and now go get me some dried bat foot?”

  Julie gave him a disapproving look. “There’s no such thing as dried bat foot. But yes, I want you to run some errands for me.” She pulled his coat off the peg by the door and handed it to him. “And don’t worry about Patty. I’ll tell her I sent you off for something for the soup. Which is, actually, what you’re doing. Somebody didn’t fix my food processor.” She nudged him. “Go on.”

  “I’ll need to get the keys to the car from Patty,” Miles pointed out as he rose, but Julie shook her head.

  “Walk,” she said. “It’s only a half a mile, and it’s through town, just before the church where you said you were going anyway,” she chided him, when he squeaked in protest. “And it isn’t as cold as it has been. The exercise will be good for you.” She produced hand-knitted mittens, scarf, and hat. “Go on. If you hurry, you’ll be back in time for lunch.”

  “Julie,” Miles complained, but she was already shoving him out the door.

  “Vegetable soup and vegan dumplings,” she said, sing-song. “With garlic bread from sprouted bean flour.”

  It sounded vaguely gross in concept, but Miles knew that if Julie made it, it would be amazing. Still. “Julie, this is ridiculous. Why the hell do I have to walk to town? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Yes.” She slammed the door in his face, and the click of the lock followed.

  Miles glared at the door for several seconds, then sighed.

  He put on his scarf and his gloves, but he tucked the hat into his pocket. It wasn’t that cold, he assured himself, though he did pull the scarf up higher to shield his ears. He grumbled all the way through the trailer park, cursing Julie and her voodoo.

  Devils, Emperors, and Towers. And Death that wasn’t death. He should never have let her read his cards. It was all stupid. He was just overtired. That was all. Anything else was weirder than Julie’s tofu brownies. He supposed he should be glad he was getting out of working for the morning. It was nice out, if a bit chilly and gloomy. But it was a crisp fall day, and he hadn’t been to anything remotely resembling a gym in months. It would do him good to walk. He’d get whatever weird stuff Katie had for him, put up with her making freaky at him and acting like he was possessed, stop by the church and make an appointment, and head home. Easy as that. Then he’d eat lunch, call some of the local dealers he’d bookmarked for the flute, then go work in the pawnshop some more. No more moping.

  Leaves and sticks crunched beneath his feet, and Miles smiled. This was his life now, and he’d live it. Devil and Emperor free. He looked up, smug and satisfied with his declaration.

  The trailer park was gone. He was in the middle of the forest.

  It smelled of summer.

  Miles stumbled backward. What the fuck? The path leading back to the park had disappeared, somehow becoming nothing but trees. How? He’d been on the road! He wasn’t anywhere near the woods. Yeah, he’d been lost in thought, but not this lost.

  In the distance he heard the echo of cloven feet clicking as they moved against stone.

  He heard an animal snort. Hot breath brushed against his neck, and Miles smelled no more summer, just the dirty, matted stink of wet animal hair and rot.

  The Emperor. And the Devil.

  One will destroy you. One will save you.

  “Help!” Miles pushed off the tree and stumbled forward. “Help—someone, anyone! Please—” He heard the snort again and yelped, then fumbled in his pockets. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him to find the flute box there.

  Miles didn’t stop to think; he opened the box and brought the silver instrument to his cold, trembling lips. Part of his brain insisted this was a really stupid thing to do, to stop and play a flute when something scary chased him, but the move was almost a compulsion. He couldn’t not play the flute right now.

  Please, he thought, swallowing fear as he shuddered a breath into the mouthpiece. It made a thin, mournful wail in answer.

  He heard the footsteps coming closer. He could smell it now, so clearly, and when he closed his eyes, he knew somehow he was back in that dark dungeon, that the monster was there with him, and it was coming for him.

  Please, help me, he pleaded, and blew a clear, high note on the flute.

  The beast snorted in rage and reached for him. Miles blew again,
trilling desperately, then braced for impact. When a shadow fell across his face, he winced, but when no blow fell, he opened his eyes.

  The smell was gone. The forest was still there, but the menacing presence had vanished. In front of him stood a shining white and silver sleigh, lined with white flowers and silver bells, silver ribbons leading to two beautiful gray horses.

  In the center of the sleigh sat a man. He was the spitting image of the Emperor from Julie’s cards, except this man was dressed in silver, not white. But other than that he was the same. Same long white hair, same hauteur, same elegance and beauty and command.

  “I’m dreaming.” Miles lifted his hands and stared at them, at the flute glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. “I have to be dreaming.”

  The Emperor laughed, an elegant, crisp sound that snuck under Miles’s skin and made his blood purr. “Then let me be the first to compliment you on your charming and articulate subconscious.” He smiled at Miles and patted the seat beside him. “Come, Miles Larson, and ride with me.”

  Miles took a step back. “How do you know my name?”

  The man looked amused. “Wouldn’t your subconscious know everything about you?” When Miles just stared at him, the man clucked his tongue and nodded curtly. “Come. Don’t waste time. Get in, Miles, or I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”

  There was something funny about the way he phrased that, and Miles wanted to question it, but the underlying urgency to the man’s voice made him pause. “Is—is he coming back? The other one?”

  The Emperor’s eyes went very dark, and they glimmered. For a moment they seemed to have no iris at all: they were just silver-black portals into his skull. “This is my last request,” he said, in a voice that echoed across the forest.

  Miles felt the light darken, and in the distance, he heard the click, click of hooves again. Terror seized him, and he looked down to the flute, thinking maybe if he blew it again, that would help.