No Magic, No Problem

by Blair Daniels

  He was so pale. So still.

  The platform was chaos as we ran to the stairs, as the police shouted into the radios. As the train shook with thundering blows.

  I numbly entered the car waiting for us. Abby sat next to me, a large gash across her forehead.

  Neither of us spoke.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Visiting hours are over."

  "Please, let me stay."

  The lizard-woman pursed her green lips. "I don't know, you're really not supposed—"

  "Please."

  She put her hands on her hips. "Only one of you," she said, glancing from Abby to me. "Or you'll be talking amongst yourselves all night, waking everyone up."

  We glanced at each other. "Abby, you should do it," I said, my heart sinking. "As his girlfriend, you should—"

  "What?!"

  "You and Gavin are dating, now."

  " Are you kidding me?!"

  "I saw you two dancing."

  "Because I love romantic country songs. Not because I like him." Her smile turned to a grimace. "Ew. I don't even want to imagine that. Gross."

  "He's... not that gross."

  A sly grin spread over her face. "Oh. You like him, don't you?"

  "No—"

  "I won't tell. I promise." She made a zipping motion across her mouth. "My lips are sealed."

  "Ladies," the lizard-woman warned from the doorway. "Wrap it up, please."

  "Okay, okay." Abby pulled herself up and started towards the door.

  "Wait. Abby." I reached for her hand and pulled her back. I glanced at the nurse, and then whispered: "Remember when I got the Tentaclon goo on me?"

  "Yeah. That was just yesterday."

  "Oh. Right." I shook my head. "Does it ever cause visions that actually predict the future? Or just hallucinations?"

  She shrugged. "I have no idea. You can ask Gavin when he's recovered. Or one of the guys in R&D on floor 6."

  "Okay. And, Abby?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What's going to happen to us?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "There are seven zombies locked up the Great Swamp metro stop. And if this necromancer can raise any number of people from the dead..."

  "We'll be fine, Kira." She smiled at me—the first forced, insincere smile she'd ever given me. It was far more chilling than anything she could have said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah! NIMP has lots of great Hunters."

  Lots of great Hunters, who couldn't even take down seven of them.

  What happens when we’re outnumbered?

  Abby abruptly stood up. "I'm going to leave before I evoke the horrible wrath of that nurse. But promise you'll text me if anything changes, okay?"

  "I promise."

  She pulled me into a tight hug. "We're going to get through this. And, for the record—I think you're doing a really great job so far."

  I felt a twinge of guilt.

  She got up and walked towards the door. "Goodnight, Kira."

  "Goodnight."

  Then I was alone.

  Alone, except for Gavin. He lay on the bed, his chest slowly rising and falling. He was breathing. And alive. But it would take weeks, if not more, to recover from the wound that punctured his lung.

  If he weren't a dhampir—if he didn't have accelerated healing—he would have died, according to the nurse.

  And it was all my fault.

  I stared out the window. This floor had vertical windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, affording a view of the city. I hadn't really noticed them when I'd been here last time, but now—lit with the sparkling lights of buildings, streetlamps, stars—I found myself staring at them.

  This is my fault.

  Gavin had rushed in to save me. Because I didn't know what I was doing. Because I don't have any way to defend myself.

  I took this job because I wanted money. To be counted among Hunters.

  Instead, I almost killed someone I care about.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered, leaning forward. Gavin remained still. Head back, arms stiffly at his sides. In the kind of sleep only a heaping ton of painkillers could produce.

  "I'm so sorry."

  I leaned over and kissed his forehead. He didn't stir.

  Squeezing his hand, I stood up and walked to the window. Cars traveled back and forth on the street below, little more than floating pairs of headlights. Flashing in the darkness like fish in a pond. Beyond the stretches of the city lay the Great Swamp—a swath of dark on the landscape, only lit at the border by a few lampposts.

  Then I saw him.

  A familiar man, walking down the sidewalk. Blond hair shining in the streetlamps, face hidden in shadow.

  My heart plummeted.

  It's him.

  No. He's not real. He doesn't exist. I watched as his head tilted upwards, as his eyes seemed to lock on mine. The hallucination must be brought about by stress. By terror.

  Do not give in.

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them, the sidewalk was empty.

  He was gone.

  I walked back to Gavin's bedside. He was still fast asleep. I sat down and held his hand in mine.

  "Tomorrow, I'm going to hand in my resignation letter. Okay? You won't have to worry about me getting in the way any longer." I took in a long, shuddering breath.

  It didn't matter how much I liked monster hunting. Or Gavin. Or Abby. Or Jim.

  I had no magic. And possibly a mental problem. For all we knew, tomorrow the city would be filled with the undead. And I would just be a distraction.

  That's what I was. What I always had been. A distraction. A hazard. A liability. An exception.

  The asterisk at the end of a sentence.

  Thump.

  A soft footstep sounded behind me. I whipped around. "Hello?" I called.

  The room, and hallway beyond, appeared empty.

  There was one on-duty nurse, somewhere in the medical ward. She was probably making her rounds. But the lizard people had talons and rarely wore shoes... wouldn't I have heard the claws tap against the linoleum?

  No. Stop it. You're imagining things.

  It could be Abby coming back for something. It could be the building settling.

  It could be anything.

  I turned back to Gavin and squeezed his hand. That's when I heard the squeak of a shoe. Right behind me.

  I turned around.

  The blond man stood in the doorway. The dim light illuminating his hooked nose, his hungry blue eyes.

  "No. You're not real." I stood up and backed away, shielding Gavin from the imaginary assailant.

  "I'm not real?"

  He was speaking. In a very real-sounding voice. I shut my eyes and backed away. "You're not real. Not real. Not real," I chanted to myself. I shut my eyes tight, blocking out his image. I couldn't look at him for a second longer.

  "You think I'm not real? Really, Kira?"

  How does he know my name?

  Wait, wait. Of course he knew my name. He was a figment of my imagination; he knew everything about me.

  "Yes. You're just a hallucination, in my head. Now, please, go away." I brought my fingers to my temples, rocked back and forth. When he started talking, again, I plugged my fingers into my ears. The sound muddled, as if I were underwater.

  But then I heard four words, clearly above the rest:

  "You don't belong here."

  I whipped around to see his horrible face right next to mine.

  "Please. Leave." I backed up into Gavin's bed. He loomed just a few inches in front of me. Tall, well-built. The kind of man who could hurt me if he wanted to.

  "Get out!" I shouted, as tears threatened to fall.

  He leaned towards me, nose brushing against mine. The smell of soil filled the air. Not the pleasant smell of the earth after a rain; the putrid, mucky smell of rotten leaves, damp dirt.

  His eyes stared into mine. His jaw was set. Not even the hint of a smile, or of anger, touched his feat
ures—his expression was unnaturally blank.

  "You don't belong here," he said. Now a slight smile crept over him. "Look at you. You can't fight. You nearly killed your friend, when he tried to protect you. You call yourself a Hunter?"

  His lips parted, and he whispered: "You were never going to be one of them."

  The tears fell hot and fast. In seconds, I was sobbing into my hands. I could feel his presence, feel him watching me, but I couldn't keep it in anymore.

  Because he was right.

  I didn't belong.

  "Kira? Are you all right?"

  I opened my eyes.

  Gavin looked at me, concern written on his features. I whipped around—the blond man was gone. It was just the two of us in this room.

  I took his hand. He squeezed.

  "I'm so, so sorry. You could've died—"

  "I'm all right."

  "You risked your life for me—"

  "I had to," he said, his voice raspy. His eyes half closed, on the verge of wakefulness and sleep. "You're okay. That's all that matters."

  His eyes fluttered closed.

  And then he was back asleep—or pretending to be. I pulled my chair closer and squeezed his hand.

  "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The sun rose.

  The streets lit with gold. Sunlight glinted off the windows, the swamp water in the distance.

  Gavin was still asleep. I picked up my phone from the nightstand, grabbed my scarf, and then leaned down to his level.

  "I’m going to miss you so much," I whispered in his ear. "And Abby, and Jim. But I have to quit. I can’t put you in danger again."

  I walked out of the ward. Down the quiet hall, past several nurses, and into the elevator. With a deep breath, I pushed the button for floor 8. The elevator groaned upwards.

  This is the last time I'll ever ride up to floor 8.

  The atrium was bustling with activity. People muttered among themselves in anxious tones, the word necromancer on their lips. I saw Apu in the distance, talking to a short-haired woman with glasses. And a man with a goatee that looked vaguely familiar, running by with his laptop under one arm, and a huge rock in the other.

  None of them noticed me approaching.

  I passed room 73—“my” office. My heart plummeted, but I forced myself forward to Thomas's office.

  Thankfully, it was empty.

  I grabbed a piece of paper from the printer, a pen from the desk, and scribbled out a note.

  I, KIRA STEELE, AM RESIGNING FROM THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE FOR MONSTER PREVENTION DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES.

  I smoothed the paper out and quickly appended to the bottom, in squished letters:

  EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.

  I placed the paper on his desk and walked down the hallway. I entered the elevator—for the last time—and watched the doors slowly close on the fountain.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  Little red lights flashed against the ceiling of the elevator. The alarm system. Thomas's voice came through the speakers, raspy and grim. "Attention: please report to the lounge on floor 8 to discuss the events of last night. Immediately."

  My hand twitched.

  But I let the elevator descend to floor 1. Then I stepped out into the laundromat. The cloying smell of the flowery detergent hit me, and I coughed.

  People—normal, non-magical people—were doing their laundry. A woman pulled socks from a dryer; an old man dumped a pile of undershirts into the washer. They had no idea that a secret monster-hunting organization lay right above them.

  And they had no idea that a necromancer was on the loose.

  I strode past them, towards the door. "Did you hear?" I heard the old man say to the woman beside him. "The Great Swamp stop is closed. Terrible fire wrecked nearly half the station."

  "That's a shame," the woman cooed. "A real shame."

  I pushed the door open, let it snap shut behind me. The voices extinguished. Then I continued into the cold, back towards my apartment.

  ***

  My apartment was a mess.

  I'd spent the last two nights in the medical ward. I'd forgotten that I left a half-eaten macaroni and cheese on the counter. It was all dried up, now, and an entire colony of ants crawled over it.

  I glanced at the box next to the door. I'd been collecting personal belongings—a silvery paperweight, a framed picture of my childhood dog—to bring them to my new office. I never brought them to Spells. It wasn't special enough to waste personal items on. Besides, the cubicle desks weren't big enough for anything more than a laptop.

  I pulled out my knitting needles and the skein of indigo yarn that Abby, Jim, and Gavin had gotten me. Then I walked out onto the balcony, sat down, and started to knit.

  Priscilla was working on her flowers again. She worked soundlessly, nimbly, using gardening scissors to snip the leaves of a spiky-looking plant.

  That woman knew how to grow stuff. She had a garden's worth of plants on just 15 square feet of balcony. Thriving, despite the cold weather. Maybe she’s secretly some kind of horticultural witch, I thought, with a smile. It would explain a lot…

  The sound of someone knocking on my door jolted me from my thoughts. I put down the yarn and went back inside.

  "Hello?" I called, walking towards the peephole. "Who is it?"

  "It's me."

  A thick British accent—that could only be one person. I pulled the door open.

  "Gavin! What are you doing here?"

  "You said you were quitting. I'm here to talk you out of it."

  “I thought you were sleeping!”

  “I was only half-asleep. Thought I might have dreamed it, but I suppose not. Why are you quitting?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to answer. "The nurses released you already?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Did you sneak out?"

  "Sort of."

  "Gavin—"

  "I need to talk to you."

  "It's not up for discussion."

  "Can't I at least ask you why you did it?"

  "Sure. Fine." I opened the door further and stepped away, sinking into the couch.

  He just stood there, on the doorstep.

  "Kira..."

  "What?"

  "I need to be invited in."

  "Oh. Come on in."

  "You, er... you need to use my name. Like, 'come in, Gavin.'"

  "What? That's dumb."

  "I don't make the rules."

  "Fine. Come in, Gavin."

  "Thank you very much." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Then he joined me on the couch, next to a bag of stale chips. He frowned at it. "Is your apartment always this..." He trailed off, gesticulating to the chips, the can of coke on the table, and the trail of crumbs leading into the kitchen.

  "A little bit."

  He frowned deeper. "You're a slob."

  "Excuse me?!"

  "Just looking at this place makes me want to..." He stopped, his eyes falling on the stray peppermint candies by the door. "Oh, for goodness' sake."

  He crouched over and began picking them up. "One... two... three."

  "Gavin, you don't have to—"

  "Oh, yes, I do. Believe me, I don't want to—four—but I can't help it. Five."

  I waited for him to finish.

  When he finally did—there were thirteen in total—he joined me on the couch. Facing me, he asked: "So, why did you quit?"

  "Wait, wait. Answer my questions first. How do you even know where I live?"

  "You put it on your W-9 form." Dammit. "So, now, why did you—"

  "No. I have another question." My expression softened. "How are you feeling?"

  "Fine. A bit of pain, here and there, but mostly fine."

  "Okay. Thank you." I sighed, pulling my feet up onto the coffee table. He frowned at my boorishness. "Now, I'll tell you why I quit. Because you got hurt, Gavin."

  "I'm fine." He grinned at me, and with an even
thicker British accent, said: "It's just a flesh wound!"

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you on painkillers, or something? You seem a bit... loopy."

  "Nope. Just pixie dust."

  "Oh, no. Pixie dust?!"

  "Yeah! It's incredible! They rubbed it on my wound, and then I got all tingly. But the good kind of tingly, not the kind you get when your foot's falling asleep—"

  "Ugh. You're drugged with pixie dust. Everything makes sense, now."

  "I'm not drugged. Pah. Pixie dust is approved by the MFDA, and its mind-altering properties are considered—"

  "I think you should lie down." In an Abby-like fashion, I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down into the couch. Surprisingly, he let me do it, and grinned up at me the entire time.

  "Don't quit," he said, looking at me upside-down. "Please, don't."

  "We can talk about this when you're not under the influence of pixie dust."

  "Don't quit."

  I sighed. "I already did. I can't risk your life—or anyone else's."

  "But people get hurt on this job all the time. That's what happens. It has nothing to do with you."

  "You jumped in front of me. That's how you got hurt. It has everything to do with me."

  He shrugged.

  "If I weren't there, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

  "Maybe, if you weren't there, I would've protected someone else. And died protecting them, instead of merely getting hurt protecting you. Maybe... you actually saved me." A faraway look came over his pale face.

  "That's some weird logic you got going on." I sighed and looked down at his face. He lay across the couch, his legs dangling off the armrest, and his head a few inches from my butt. "You didn't even want me to join NIMP in the first place. And now you're begging me to stay?"

  He shrugged. "You have a lot more spunk than I gave you credit for."

  I broke into a smile. "You know, I think I like drugged-Gavin better than sober-Gavin. He's a lot nicer to me."

  He frowned. "Is that a... compliment? Or an insult?"

  "Both."

  I glanced down at him. His dark brown hair was gently mussed from sleep. His skin was even paler than usual, and the black tee had ridden up a bit, showing the thick bandages underneath.

  He'd come all this way, in pain, just to ask me to come back. Even drugged, that was pretty sweet.