White Trash Warlock

by David R. Slayton

  Robert turned them onto Broadway. He tried to decide between the street and the highway, not knowing if he wanted the drive over quickly or not. He’d left Adam behind in Oklahoma. He knew that, but now he had a chance to make it right.

  “You could go to college, night classes, online, whatever,” Robert suggested, choosing the long way home.

  “What college would take me? I’m a dropout, a freak, and a former mental patient. Thanks for that last one by the way.” Adam squeezed his fists closed. He looked like he might slam them down on the dashboard but thought better of it. “I don’t want to be here, Bobby. I’m not you. I’ll take the job to help Annie. That’s all we should be focusing on.”

  “I know,” Robert said. “It’s just—you need a life, Adam. Not living in squalor with an old woman.”

  Robert didn’t mention the unemployed part. Their father hadn’t been able to keep a job either. He’d squander money, leave them without groceries. Mom worked harder and harder, grinding herself down while he pissed her efforts away. More than anything else, Robert suspected that was what had left her so broken down.

  “I have a life, Bobby,” Adam said, sounding peevish. “People aren’t less just because they don’t live the way you do.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Robert said.

  “You think it,” Adam said. “You think we’re all trash because we don’t have nice cars and ugly houses. Life isn’t just about money.”

  His jaw clenched every time Adam said something like that to him. But he had to admit, it wouldn’t needle so hard if there wasn’t some truth in it. He had hated Oklahoma and everything about their life there. Their mother couldn’t leave the land in Guthrie, but Adam could. He could get out.

  “But you do need money, don’t you?” Bobby countered. “You’re barely eating. That car is on its last leg. Anyone can see that.”

  He didn’t mention that he’d snuck a look at Adam’s charts and lab results. No STDs or drugs, thank God. He really didn’t want to know what Adam had done to survive, especially after he’d run away from Liberty House.

  “I’m doing fine on my own, with Sue, whatever,” Adam said. “I’m not some kid. I’m sure as hell not your kid.”

  Robert looked his brother over. Adam shook with old rage. They hadn’t talked about it, Liberty House. They hadn’t talked since then.

  But Adam was right. He wasn’t a kid, and yet, he wasn’t quite the adult he should be. His time at Liberty House, or the time after, doing nothing when he should have been in school, had put him off track. His development had slowed somewhere along the way. Adam was street smart, and yet, not.

  And it was all true. That cop, Martinez, should be dead. Something had caused the other cop to snap for no reason.

  Robert had sent Adam to Liberty House because he thought it was the best thing to do. Hadn’t he? Hadn’t that been why?

  He remembered the calls from his mother, her frustration putting teeth into her already sawing voice as every call sounded the same, Adam missing school. Adam failing classes.

  Liberty House had seemed the perfect solution, the best thing for all of them.

  A pressure started behind Robert’s eyes. His chest tightened.

  “You can quit and go back to the trailer park whenever you want,” Robert said quietly.

  “Oh, I will,” Adam snapped as they pulled into the driveway. “When this is over with, I’ll never speak to your sorry ass again.”

  Adam leapt out of the car before Robert had put it in park. He didn’t slam the door, but he closed it with enough force for Bobby to snap, “Watch it!”

  Adam headed for the house. Robert took a seething breath and followed. The two speed-walking women were passing. As always, they wore matching sunglasses and track suits.

  “What?” he demanded. For once he didn’t care. For once he considered flipping them off. That’s what Adam would have done. But Robert was the elder. Mom had told him that his entire life. He had to be the bigger man, because he was bigger. He had to be the man.

  Inside, Annie faced off with Adam. She stood at the edge of the tile, just where the carpet started. Her eyes, wary slits, looked wild and dangerous.

  “What are you looking at?” Adam snarled.

  “Adam,” Robert said, coming in behind him. Robert grabbed his brother’s shoulder and jerked him around. “Annie is sick. Don’t talk to her like that.”

  “I wasn’t talking to her,” Adam whispered.

  Tension ran through Adam and into Robert’s hand. He looked like he might hit Robert. Part of him would be glad to retaliate, but the sight of Annie standing there, staring like that, bled the heat from his limbs.

  Robert squinted, first at Adam, then at his wife. He couldn’t see what Adam saw, but he could feel something. The house’s oppressive air condensed into Annie. Robert shivered, like the cold ran into him from eye contact with Annie.

  Adam jerked free of his brother’s grip.

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Robert whispered. He watched his wife like he’d watched for snakes in the tall grass around the trailer, listening for danger, listening that Adam was safe when he played.

  “That’s why I’m staying,” Adam said, nodding to Annie. “I might hate your guts, but I’ll do what I can for her.”

  Bobby tensed like he’d been punched as Adam walked away.

  15

  Adam

  The spirit tendril remained attached to Annie. Its red veins ran through her, pulsing with alien life. They drifted around her in a cloud like exposed nerves. It wasn’t at the point the cop had reached, where the spirit was able to control her, but it was close. He’d wasted time, languishing in the hospital, and he could see now that he didn’t have long. The spirit’s yellow eyes, running up and down the stalk, mocked him with their stare.

  Carl hadn’t been possessed when he’d opened the records room door. Something was slowing the spirit’s possession of Annie, had sped it up with Carl. He needed more information. Adam needed to think, and he couldn’t do that here, not with Bobby’s disappointment and anger prickling his defenses.

  He retreated to the basement. His clothes weren’t coming back. They’d been too bloodstained, but he found a plastic bag with his phone, his wallet, and most importantly, his keys. Jingling them, Adam smiled and felt a weight lift.

  “Where are you going?” Bobby asked when he headed for the door.

  “Research,” Adam said.

  His days in the hospital had been spent mostly asleep, but waking, he’d missed the Cutlass. She started, and Adam resisted the urge to talk to her.

  He hadn’t quite gotten to that point with his car, but felt like he could. There were days when Sue and the car, two old ladies, were his only friends. He rubbed a thumb over the stylized rocket logo on the steering wheel.

  “Okay, Federal,” he said aloud, pulling away from Bobby’s house.

  He plugged his phone into the car charger. It steered him north.

  This part of town was very different than where his family lived. It didn’t remind him of Guthrie, being too urban, though it had the familiar shabbiness of home.

  All magic had a taste, a scent. Most people were simply incompatible, their power, their life, rubbed at Adam like burlap on bare skin. The warlock, for all his evil, did not. His power and Adam’s were of the same flavor. He had no proof the similarity was hereditary, but the only other practitioner he’d felt in tune with was Sue. The idea that he could have blood in common with a torturer made him clench his teeth.

  Similar or not, Adam would need to be in close proximity to feel the warlock’s power. If the pawn shop was a regular front for such artifacts, he’d find it quickly, though to be honest, Adam needed the drive. He needed to clear his head.

  Adam knew what he had to do, but he’d put it off until nightfall, when he could approach the Guardians on An
nie’s behalf. In the spirit realm, the Watchtower of the North stood straight ahead. He’d turn off Federal before he got too close to it. He did not want to approach by day, without steeling himself.

  He stopped at the first pawn shop he found. He didn’t have any fond memories of them. His one trip as a kid had been to sell his PlayStation, one more of Dad’s spontaneous gifts that needed to go away so the family could eat.

  You were a real asshole sometimes.

  There were plenty of days when Adam didn’t want to find his missing father, when he pushed the mystery of his disappearance aside. But it always crept back into his thoughts.

  Then there was the warlock. Adam didn’t even know if he and Dad were the same person, but finding out would answer his questions, about his magic, about how he could feel so different than his mother and brother. He and Bobby could not be related.

  Doctor Binder was more concerned with Adam’s future than Annie’s. He thought back on all the emails, all the clear signs that Annie loved Bobby, that she doted on him. If Adam had that, he wouldn’t make the guy his second priority.

  He’d—well, he didn’t really know what he’d do with a guy in the long term. He’d be like the dog who finally caught the car. He had no idea what he’d do with a boyfriend beyond the obvious. That thought brought an image of black hair and a blue uniform.

  “Focus, Binder,” Adam said, climbing out of the Cutlass.

  The shop was open. Used video games and musical instruments shared space with power tools. A jet ski was mixed in with the bicycles. No one stood behind the counter. No one greeted Adam, though the door had beeped. His Sight showed bits of black and blue, a dash of red, lost hopes and betrayals, clinging to this or that. It reminded him of his mother, of how she’d faded over the years.

  He’d been little when his dad had gone, but Adam remembered his mother, glowing, bright and laughing. That Tilla Mae and her nicotine-stained smile existed only in fading memories.

  The next two shops went the same way. Adam ran a hand over a rack of beaten hockey sticks and wondered if Tanner’s dad had remembered the wrong street, if the shop had closed. He wanted to text, get more information, but hesitated. It was best to let Tanner go. Adam didn’t want to lead him on. Even if Sue hadn’t been right, Tanner wasn’t going to do, not for Adam. He was a normal guy. Flesh and spirit. Adam needed both.

  Back in the Cutlass, Adam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shake the little sorrows he’d picked up from the objects.

  He hadn’t found any answers. His father might be the warlock. His father had vanished. Adam had the terrible, looming impression that it had been his fault. His father had left, and his mother had lost all of her light because of Adam.

  Gripping the wheel, he sank into the seat. He felt a warmth, an easing touch, like a hand on his shoulder.

  Adam?

  That voice again, faint and comforting. He hadn’t imagined it.

  Adam reached inside himself, felt around, searching for the source. He knew it, knew the oranges and sandalwood scent of that thread as soon as he touched it.

  Vic?

  No answer.

  “Oh, Binder, what have you done?” Adam muttered aloud as he started the Cutlass.

  Back at Bobby’s, he found his backpack. His mother had washed and hung his clothes. She’d left most of his things intact, but his small stash of weed had vanished. He didn’t smoke often, only when he really needed to take the edge off, when the spirit realm pressed too near.

  With a sigh, he took the small leather sack from the bottom. The tarot cards carried a faint smell of incense and fried chicken, reminding him of Sue and her kitchen. He wished she was there.

  Adam waffled on calling her, then finally dialed her number. It went to voicemail. It wasn’t unexpected. The trailer didn’t get the best reception.

  “Aunt Sue? Can you call me? I could . . . well, I could really use your advice.”

  Other scents rose as he shuffled. He caught a whiff of cigar smoke and jimson weed. A lot of Binders had used this deck. They’d charged it with their magic, left a little of themselves upon it.

  Adam didn’t expect to have kids, didn’t expect he’d have anyone to pass the deck to when he died. He didn’t consider himself sentimental, but the thought made his shoulders hunch.

  If Annie and Bobby had kids, then maybe one of them would be like him, a nephew or niece Adam could pass Sue’s lessons to. The idea was almost pleasant, gauzy but tinged with something gray.

  The thought of it ending with him made Adam both happy and sad. Sad, because he loved his family. Happy, because he didn’t like them very much.

  Adam wasn’t great at tarot, and reading your own cards was often inaccurate. Your own longings and false ideas about yourself got in the way.

  He kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed. Careful not to cross any part of his body, he shuffled the cards, hoping some of Aunt Sue’s touch lingered in the paper. Adam cut the deck and drew three cards.

  The Tower.

  The Page of Swords.

  The Knight of Swords.

  “Bullshit,” Adam said.

  He glared at the cards like they’d betrayed him. He repeated the shuffle and draw, closing his eyes until he’d laid them out.

  The Tower.

  The Page of Swords.

  The Knight of Swords.

  “Shit.”

  Adam wrapped the cards up and tucked them into his backpack. He closed his eyes, wondering if Sue had known, how much of all this she’d seen before he’d left Guthrie.

  The cards weren’t lying. He ran the spread a third time, unsurprised when they came up with the same results.

  The Tower. Danger. Sudden change, but in this case literally a tower.

  The Page of Swords. Usually his card. Youth, a sign telling him to go forward.

  It was the third card, the Knight of Swords, that made him wince. A powerful figure full of life. Of magic.

  Adam pressed two fingertips to the card, ran them down the figure’s face. The safest road appeared to be the one he knew best but liked the least.

  He’d need a gift. He couldn’t approach the Guardians without a worthy sacrifice. Adam didn’t have anything, but the petition wasn’t really for him.

  He crept upstairs. His mom was smoking out back. Bobby was on the second story, the door to his room closed. Adam watched for Annie as he moved toward the front door. He found what he needed on the coffee table. Heart racing, he moved back to the basement as quietly as he could.

  Trying to steady his breathing, Adam laid down atop the coverlet. He stretched out, his arm held to the side with his empty fist clenched as if to hold a blade, invoking the Page of Swords. To petition, he had to come as himself, to invoke the card that best represented him, and Sue hadn’t been wrong. It was always swords with Adam.

  He sighed and closed his eyes. Man, he hated elves.

  16

  Adam

  Every city and most remote areas had watchtowers. Monoliths of the spirit realm, the Guardian races shaped them by style or whim, choosing a landmark in the physical world as an anchor. Immortal politics were complicated and possession of a tower changed from time to time.

  The tower latched onto a high point, a lonely tree or hill if no building was available. In Guthrie, two were connected to grain elevators, one to the town landfill. The watchtowers were boundary markers and courts, places to petition the Guardians.

  The Guardians often changed their appearance to match their anchor. The same spirit might appear as a farmer in Guthrie or a gangster in Chicago. Adam’s best theory was that they worked in aspects, different faces of the same being. A part of them lived in each place while other parts lived elsewhere.

  He suspected it was the secret to their immortality. If one aspect died, the others would live on. But he wondered if they’d know, if they
’d feel the loss of their other selves.

  In spirit, Adam strode toward the Watchtower of the North, wondering if that was what had happened to Perak. Maybe he’d died, the aspect of him that had loved Adam had died, and the rest of him didn’t know to come looking. It was an easier fantasy than abandonment, the idea that the immortal had simply tired of his plaything.

  Adam put the old ache away and spoke the invocation to open the road to the north, “Hail to the Guardians of the Watchtower of the North.”

  White light, almost blinding, arrived in a blast of freezing wind, forcing Adam to tuck his face to his chest and shield it with his arm.

  When things warmed again, he opened his eyes.

  Adam gaped at the luminous magic cascading off the tower ahead. He poured all of his will into his defenses, but still they buckled, shining like a nimbus around him.

  The elves, Adam’s bane and main annoyance, had chosen an amusement park as their Denver anchor. His Sight worked in reverse here, letting him peek across the veil and see the mortal world. The park, while well lit and with running rides, looked full of faded 1920s glory. A roller coaster ran with the creaks and splintery groans of old wood. He frowned at the dilapidation, but the tinge of blue cooled his nerves as he walked on.

  The aspect of the looming watchtower became more real than the mortal plane. The tower’s old-fashioned light bulbs went from hazy to clear. Everything shone, new and white, like he’d stepped into the past.

  Adam entered the park. The magic intensified, crashing around him like a wave. He could no longer see across the boundary.

  Stiffening his spine, he fought the urge to run back to his body. He had to do this for Annie.

  None of the elves approached him, but Adam could not help but be aware of them moving through the glossy night of the spirit realm. Smooth-skinned, with perfect hair and eyes like jewels, they strolled the park in couples or sets of three. They always seemed to dance, like they heard a music he couldn’t, which was entirely possible. All of their senses were greater than his. Perak had loved to tease him about it, distant things Adam couldn’t see or hear.