by Sam Schenk
“Break it up, ya’ll.” Jay snapped his fingers up on stage. It echoed through the mic. “Donny, soundcheck. Make sure you test what happens when you drop your A string this time.”
“Yes sir.” Donny’s hand slipped away from Greg’s back as he stood. He faced Greg for a moment, touched his cheek with those callused fingers and that smooth palm, then strode towards the stage. The lingering imprint of his touch sifted away into the chill air, leaving a twang of guilt in Greg’s chest. These sort of games were for kids who didn’t know any better. What was he doing, playing with a foreigner like this?
Warm vibrations from Donny’s bass began to rumble through the speakers. He played with the tuning, dropping one of his strings a full tone, then gave a quick thumbs-up to Jay. He snuck a look in Greg’s direction and winked.
Greg took another sip of his drink, hoping that the bar was warm enough for more than one face to flush. Donny knew what he was doing. He’d started it, after all, had acknowledged that he had done this before. If Greg had been under the influence of some potion to make him seem like a handsome prince, then there may have been a different argument. Though, he did wonder whether sprays like Tom’s were made by witches. He toyed with the idea of trying to harness veil energy into some effect rather than just patching damage — something temporary, to keep Maddie’s memories from interfering with his fun. Something that exuded confidence, financial stability, and bedroom prowess wouldn’t be too bad. He was sure he could manage that.
The band finished the soundcheck and disappeared to prepare while customers began to fill out the seats. The chatter volume increased until Greg couldn't make out the dubstep backing track anymore. A couple pulled into Greg’s booth, giggling and falling all over each other. Greg checked his smart-watch. A little early to be so messy, but he couldn’t help but smile and shake his head.
It wasn’t long before Jay came out to announce the band.
Greg had missed Donny’s cool, glazed performance during the first section last time. He was hidden from the spotlight, sharing a calm background of samey patterns with the drummer like a secret. Now that Greg knew what was coming, he found the melody unmistakably tied to the bassline that throbbed through the speakers. Finally, Donny bit his lip in concentration as he stepped to the front of the stage. He burst through quick phrases, his eyes closed. His music pulled Greg into his world. It was as if there was no one else; the chatter faded behind his music. Greg stood and clapped uproariously. The couple beside him followed suit, hooting and shouting praise.
His eyes searched for a confirmation that Donny wouldn’t get lost in the crowd when it was all over.
Donny didn’t disappoint. He gave a short bow to the crowd as he faded back into his background filler, into his place beside the drummer. When their eyes met, he winked, then doubled his tempo into a swift walking bassline.
Greg didn’t think he’d ever felt so hot for someone before.
Donny made Greg wait a good half hour before he disengaged from the crowd of new fans. Greg did his best to keep it cool, but he couldn’t help the burn in his heart and body. He wanted nothing more than to drag the bassist away. Donny accepted the drink Greg bought for him, then sat, his leg pressed close to Greg’s while chattering animatedly in his accent that poured like honey.
Some of the crowd took the hint, but others remained. Greg did his best to participate in the conversation, but his heart leapt every time someone said goodbye. Eventually, he and the band outnumbered the listeners. The bar called for last drinks. Donny leaned his head against Greg's shoulder. “So, the night’s ours.” He said, slurring slightly.
“You sure you’re up for entertaining?” Greg patted the side of Donny’s cheek. It was cold, stiff, his reflexes were out of whack.
“I just need to walk it off for a bit. I’ll be fine.” Donny grinned, but he slipped as he tried to stand. He used Greg’s shoulder to keep himself upright. “It’s a ways to the backpackers, why don’t you walk me home? We’ll play it by ear.”
This wasn’t going anywhere good. But it still didn’t feel right to leave Donny to the elements. Greg sighed. “No worries. It’s a nice enough night, and someone has to make sure you get home safe.”
“Ooh, a gentleman.” Donny simpered, but allowed Greg to lead him towards the stairs back to the street. He called back over his shoulder, “Guys, can you bring my piece home?”
“Yeah sure.” Jay waved. “Get out of here before I puke. And you — you’d better have him back for practice tomorrow afternoon.”
Greg saluted him. “Well, I’ll at least get him home, can’t promise the rest. C’mon mate, let’s get moving.”
Donny was in a state. After a short stint down Cuba, Greg stopped at the corner dairy to grab some water and a pie. He shoved both at Donny.
“What the hell is this?” grumbled Donny as his fingers played along the plastic wrap.
“Never had a pie before? Meat in a pastry. It’s good for hangovers. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“I’m already thanking you,” Donny said. After a cautious bite, he wolfed down the lot. “Can’t beat a 3 a.m. burger, but it does the job.”
“Next time it’ll be kebabs,” Greg promised.
They didn’t speak much on the rest of the walk back to the backpackers. Cuba was deserted except for those searching the side streets for taxi stands, waiting for Ubers, or heading the opposite way for a late-night bus. When they reached the entrance to the ten-story ex-student dorm, Donny fumbled but found his card, and let them into the foyer. The front desk wasn’t occupied.
“Would your bandmates be back yet, or do you want me to take you upstairs?” Asked Greg, reaching for Donny’s phone.
Donny shifted his hip away from Greg’s grasp. He smiled cheekily. “Sure you don’t want to do more than that?”
Greg smoothed a stray hair from Donny’s face. “It’s a tempting offer. You’re making it hard to keep on this nice guy act. Can’t handle those eyes of yours.”
“Sounds like you’re blaming me for your own problems.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re good at it.” Greg smoothed his hand through Donny’s hair to bring his face close, then kissed him, hard. His body moved as if spelled, and they fell together against a brick wall. Donny’s responses drove Greg into a frenzy of touching his neck and chest, his hips pressed close so he could practically feel Donny through his clothes.
He wasn’t hard.
Greg released Donny’s head from the wall. Doubt settled into the pit of his stomach. Had he heard Donny respond to him, or was that just the booze?
“Why’d you stop?” Donny slurred. He threw his arm around Greg’s neck. “Don’t like public displays?”
“This is hardly public,” Greg sighed. Goddess, the man was so close to him. He took a stabilising breath. “But this isn’t going to happen tonight, and I know it.”
“I’m a big boy.”
Greg brought Donny’s hand softly down from his neck. He sighed. “Nah bro, you have had too much. Let me call the lift for you”
“You’re so sweet.” Donny sighed, letting his head drop back against the bricks. His eyes were longing when he met Greg’s one last time. “No convincing you I’m in my right mind, is there?”
“Nope. There will be another time, presuming you plan to call me in the morning.” Greg put Donny’s arm over his shoulder to help him to the lift, determined now. He was much further gone than was responsible.
Donny started to take some of his own weight. “We’re playing every night. I will text you every day, and I expect to see you there every night until you take me up on it.”
Greg pressed the call button, desire fading from his system. He plopped Donny against the wall when the lift arrived.
“Do you at least remember what floor you are?” asked Greg, eyeing the retro buttons.
“Should be fine,” Donny pressed a number on the wall.
Greg waved goodbye as the doors began to close.
Greg let out a long breath before turning to make his way home. An uphill trek would be just the ticket to work the rest of the heat out of him. As he strolled up Bolten street near the graveyard’s main entrance, he could see a cloud of veil activity — active energy whipping through into the physical world. He’d never seen anything that size before.
He jogged towards the vault, scanning the area. A humidity unheard of in Wellington had settled like a fog over the graveyard. As he drew closer, his chest felt tight and his breathing quickened.
It might be the crystals. Greg sat on one of the benches at the side of the vault, his feet on the brick border. He could sense the five distinct pools of energy, stable as ever. Pulling them into an entry point went as smoothly as it usually did. Everything was balanced and contained, there wasn’t any extra energy being collected. Whatever this was, it wasn’t his doing.
Greg shook the thoughts away. Whatever it was, he didn’t have the right mental state to work it out tonight. He put his earbuds in, flicked the playlist onto random (which happened to be ‘The Alternatives’ again), and hefted his gym bag on his back to begin the trek home.
He hung the key next to the door and swore when his eyes hovered on the crooked, poorly-hammered block of wood that didn’t match the door frame. Forgot the damn hammer.
He trampled over the weekend’s clothes on his way to the bedroom. Maddie would have had something to say about the state of the place for sure. Well, she’s not here, he told himself defiantly. He chucked his clothes onto the floor and flung himself into bed.
Greg lay there for a moment, eyes wide, but eventually gave in and hefted himself back out of bed. He grabbed the largest knife he had from the kitchen and stomped over to the offending key hook. Gathering the veil’s strength around his arms, he jabbed the point underneath. He strained against the handle, madder and more aggressive with every second that passed. Finally, the block of wood went spinning into the lounge. It knocked satisfyingly against the wall then fell to the ground. He returned to bed, letting out a huff of triumph. When he finally slept, it was with a sense of freedom — the first he’d felt in a long while.
Chapter Five
Tom was a good boss. He would have given a day off if Greg had asked for it. Moping at home with the big ripped patch next to the door was not where he wanted to be right now, and as long as work got done in fair time, Tom couldn’t force him to take leave. Greg threw himself and his craft into the Merc, fully conscious of the folder crumpling in his gym bag.
At some point, he would have to handle it. While he could fight off the odd memory, the dissociation wasn’t there anymore, not with Maddie having shown up at work.
There were more important things to worry about, anyway. Had he dreamed up that huge cloud of energy roaming around in the graveyard? He had been drunk, no question, but, his mind wasn’t the type to do something so strange. It had been strange since his encounter with Elizabeth, though. What if there were other effects from being in contact with a ghost that was so far deteriorated? Greg was tempted to go back to Bolton Street, for the first time in broad daylight. He would be able to find somewhere off the beaten path to cross over and confirm what he’d seen. There surely wouldn't be too many people likely to stumble across him, right?
He’d dismissed the thought before the end of the workday, though. It wasn’t as though the vault was going anywhere, and if the energy did, that probably wasn't a bad thing. He still wasn't sure about what was going on with Elizabeth, and Maddie, either. He pulled out his phone to text Lisa.
Hey teach, I know it’s been a while. Could I raid your sage bush tomorrow? You know me, black thumb and all. Think I caught something in the veil.
Thanks, Greg
She responded a few hours later.
Of course, you’re always welcome. Kids are away until Sunday. I’ll make some tea. Lisa
Feeling slightly more optimistic at the thought of visiting her, he left the garage right on five. His teacher was less than ten years older than him, but she was a real witch. Her twin teenage kids were out of the house as often as they could be, phones struggling to find a few bars of Wi-Fi from the neighbours’. They’d even begged to stay a few times at his place when there was a raid on. He felt bad for them, having to fight to keep up with technology, but Lisa’s power couldn’t be denied, and unlike Greg, she refused to compromise it for the sake of modern convenience.
Tempting as it was to text again, and try to make it out to her place tonight, he dropped into the gym instead. He worked the weights hard, hoping it would put him in enough alignment to be able to enter the veil tonight. Energy gathered around him with each press, each squat, each lift. By the time the evening rolled around, he was tired enough that nothing he did would stop the veil from flowing naturally around him. He plopped his gym bag on the bench, reached around the manilla folder for a fresh towel, and headed for the shower.
Greg sighed into the heat, his hand against the tiled wall as the water ran down his body. He luxuriated in it for a few minutes before scrubbing himself down. He noted the state of the muscles in his arms and legs, feeling the pecs against his ribs, and scratched a nail along the five o-clock shadow. Walking up and down the hill, going to the gym twice a week, and the physical nature of his job kept him in pretty good nick. He could land someone else if Donny didn’t work out, stubble or not.
He wrapped a towel around himself and headed back to the locker room. One of the regulars was there. Greg wasn’t on first name terms with him, but they often worked out side by side, and occasionally they drove each other with a competitive edge. The man gave him a curt nod of the head. “Hey bro.”
“Hey.” Greg greeted him.
“You left your bag open. Got one of those lawyers’ folders, eh?”
Greg grunted, the pressure on his insides threatening to make him smash through one of the lockers. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sorry man. I’m going out on the town tonight, couple mates, coupla beers?”
“Nah it’s all good, I have plans. Another day though.”
“Sounds good. Between the two of us, one should get lucky.”
Greg finished dressing and threw his bag over his shoulder. “Have a good night, man.”
“You too.”
He grabbed some curry to have at the amphitheatre. A message from Donny arrived while he was waiting.
Am I going to see you tonight? Promise I will save some headspace for you. X. D
Smiling, Greg texted a response.
Have some things to do, probably tomorrow too, but I’ll see you on Monday after I hit the gym. Break a leg.
Donny’s reply came quickly.
Look forward to seeing those lovely muscles first hand. Let me know if there’s anything I can join you for. It’d be great to spend some time away from the booze and to get to know you better. I’m sorry that I got carried away yesterday.
Greg gave him one more before putting his phone away.
It’s fine, you’re away from home. Looking forward to seeing a bit more of you next week.
With a takeaway bag in hand, Greg took his time on the walk up from the city. The day had been calm, but the clouds were rolling in from the south. Hard to tell what Wellington was going to do on any given day, but he had a strong suspicion that the weather would go awry on his way to Lisa's tomorrow.
He hadn’t even stepped onto Bolton Street when the wrongness of it hit him. It jittered through his spirit, across his skin, and through his system. He froze, worried that another bout of ghostly memories were going to erupt in his mind. Nothing happened.
“Whoever did that, I’m going to tell you off properly when I get in,” Greg muttered under his breath.
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br /> His appetite disintegrated. Rather than using the main entrance, Greg hiked to the top of the botanical gardens and entered the upper graveyard from the far side. Leaving his bag nearby, he jogged down the pedestrian access to the lower graveyard to check the most accessible set of crystals. He found them where they were supposed to be: in a hole in the retaining wall just below the path.
They had still gathered energy as normal since the morning, but the clouds around the hole were denser than usual, full of jumping electrons and activity. The thought of touching, much less using that cloud, made a shiver crawl through his nerves. Greg grabbed the crystals out from the cloud as though they would burn him, and retreated to the upper graveyard. He could travel in from a safe distance. At least, he hoped the upper graveyard was safe.
Leaving his body took longer than usual. It had been a while since he’d tried to enter the veil without the glyph to guide him. When finally his breathing stabilised enough to enter the corridor of doors, he found himself in a place that was dark and viscous, even though in the physical world there was a hint of waning daylight. The doors that appeared before him were cracked and wilted. When he tried to open one, the energy that created it slipped away from his grasp. He had no choice but to go forward down the corridor as the doors became more and more distorted until they were unrecognisable. Finally, they cleared away entirely and left him at the edge of a thick cloud, jumping with activity. Several ghosts were gathered, contemplating the mist with distaste.
“Took your time getting here, didn’t you?” asked Robert, emerging from the centre of the crowd. “It’s been like this for days. Though I suppose you knew that.”
