by VK Fox
Jane spun her chair around to watch the footage. She stared. The footage repeated, closed-captioned remarks adding speculation and no new facts.
Ian stood, game face on. “Jane, I need you to come upstairs now. I have to reevaluate whether we should be concerned.”
“What are you talking about?” Jane’s voice was faraway and empty.
“Now, please.” He was calm and firm.
Jane stood and rubbed her eyes. She followed several steps behind. Ian opened the door to the stairs, glanced inside, and held it for her, keeping his gaze on the lobby as Jane entered the stairwell.
Once inside, questions leaked out. “What is going on? Is someone after me? Am I in danger?”
“We can discuss this in the room. It’s likely you are not in danger. But why take the risk?” He mounted the stairs three at a time to the third floor.
“Why take the risk? Is this a precaution?” She panted and wheezed, struggling to keep pace with Ian and his long strides. “Slow . . . down!”
He cut his pace and gestured upward encouragingly. “You’re doing great. Almost there.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re like a damn gazelle. I was trying—” She coughed and struggled to catch her breath, but she caught up, finally. “I was trying to avoid your room. It seems inappropriate—”
“Did you ever think smoking might restrict your airflow? It’s moments like this when I appreciate excellent lung health.”
“Well, gee whiz, if I had only known I’d have to run up three flights of hotel stairs, following a guy I just met eight years after I started smoking . . . man, oh man, I would have thought twice about that first cigarette!”
“Ah, the naivete of youth. Well, now you know, so you can make the appropriate lifestyle changes going forward.”
Ian opened the door to the third-floor hallway and stepped through, glancing up and down. Apparently nothing lurked, ready to jump out of the shadows, because he gestured for Jane to follow. Their rooms were close to the stairwell, so a few short steps later he slid the key card in the door and it clicked open.
“Call me young again and see what happens,” she grumbled and followed him inside.
The boy’s room was full of shifting, silver light. Two twin beds instead of Jane’s queen filled the majority of the small room. Dahl was still asleep on one of the two beds. He had none of the injuries she’d witnessed the night before, but his wrists were still bandaged. On the floor around the bed, a river of silver light four inches wide flowed in a lazy ellipse. Like a magic circle, the floor and bed inside shone softly in the dark room. The effect was so beautiful, it seemed a shame to turn on the lights. Ian closed the door, engaging the manual security lock.
“Is—what’s happening? Is he all right?”
Ian gazed at Dahl, his face soft. “He’s fine. He’s dreaming. I’ll wake him in a minute.” He stepped to the edge of the circle and reached across it, ruffling Dahl’s hair. The gesture was oddly paternal. Dahl’s face, relaxed in sleep, was like a child’s next to Ian’s huge hand.
“But . . .” Jane couldn’t find the words. She’d never seen magic like this, peacefully existing without adrenaline-pumping desperation. She watched the light flow sluggishly along.
Ian’s hand brushed the bandages around Dahl’s wrists. “I hate these,” he said quietly before turning back to Jane.
“Yeah, what are they for? Does it have something to do with his powers? He had his wrists dressed in the hospital too.” She studied Dahl’s peaceful face. “And I’m sorry, what do you mean he’s dreaming?”
“The bandages have nothing to do with his powers. He said they were part of his cover story.” Ian shook his head once and his voice became livelier. “The dreaming is from me. It’s part of my magic. I can send good dreams or induce prophecy. I can interpret dreams, too.”
“You did this? What are you showing him?”
“I don’t know. His dream will be significant to our mission. When he wakes, he can tell me what he saw, and I’ll be able to choose our next move wisely.”
“What’s your mission?”
“Right now? We were attempting to locate someone who has power but is not part of our group.”
“Well, you found me, so mission accomplished. Why does he need to keep dreaming?”
“I have a hunch the dreams will foretell more work to do.”
Jane watched the silver light, the sleeping man, Ian’s affectionate expression. The power of prophecy was revered and desired by people across time and geography for obvious reasons. Even a hint about events to come was unthinkably valuable. And here she was, watching Dahl dream about the future while her apartment burned because he’d fucking slept in. He could have seen it. He could have stopped it.
“But your dreams couldn’t have foretold my apartment getting torched? Do you have any idea what I lost back there?” Jane’s voice caught. Her photos, her favorite shirt from the time she’d went to Ozzfest with her ex, notes she’d passed in class to her best friend, a lock of her Nana’s hair, her books. All gone.
“I’m sorry. This is hard. I promise things will improve.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need a pep talk.”
“I can see you’re upset—”
“You have no idea how I’m feeling!” Jane spat. Her nose dripped and her hands balled into impotent fists.
“I don’t know if I’ve felt the way you do, but I can see it’s painful. I’m here, whatever that means to you.”
“Excuse me.” She shoved herself to her feet and fled to the bathroom. Jane stared at herself in the mirror, tears flowing, her face contorting in an effort to keep silent. She spent several minutes mastering her emotions, finally running cold water and splashing it onto her cheeks. Crying was stupid. Tears wouldn’t fix anything. Control returned, and she emerged a few minutes later.
Dahl was sitting when Jane came back out of the bathroom, the ring of silver gone. Ian was on the edge of the bed, conversing with him in soft tones. Since the conversation didn’t break off with Jane’s reappearance, they weren’t talking about her.
“I thought it was a car.” Dahl sounded hazy, like a memory was slowly coming back to him. “But it didn’t respond to the pedals or wheel. Once I sat back and noticed the details, I realized we were on a track, not a road. We were headed toward a small town. Other vehicles were traveling on the same track. They were all full of monsters. Their hands were bloody, and they were gulping down flesh. They took no notice of me. They were fixated on our destination ahead. As we traveled, I noticed my hands on the wheel and saw I was also stained in blood. I woke when my mouth filled with it.”
Ian rubbed his face and, instead of responding, filled Dahl in on the apartment fire. Jane sat quietly, not wanting to interrupt. After conveying the news, Ian grabbed his walkie-talkie and went to sweep the hotel for any “persons of interest.” A few minutes later, he radioed with the all clear. “I’ll head to the apartment next. If it’s safe, you and Jane can meet me there.”
Dahl confirmed and turned to Jane. His brow furrowed slightly, but he wiped the expression, his face relaxing. “Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed a set of keys and a pair of boots. “There’s time to kill, and we can stop by the store and pick up some things so you don’t spoil my clothes.”
Chapter Nine
Their shopping trip exceeded Jane’s expectations. She started with some of her go-to methods: swapping out her shoes with new ones from the box, adding a few tank tops under her T-shirt, and casually calculating how many pairs of panties she could palm if she rolled the tiny, lacy ones. Dahl followed her with an intense fascination. His focus was super creepy, especially in the underwear section.
Jane narrowed her eyes and glared at him and he stared back, clueless, waiting for her next move. He was watching her methods, not her selections.
Jane laughed. “Someone’s a five-finger virgin.”
Dahl’s face was blank, then for a bare second his gaze tracked to the rack of panties. Jane bit her li
p, hoping it would click and she wouldn’t have to explain her bungled phrasing. Nothing clicked. After fifteen seconds, she took a fortifying breath and broke the silence.
“A virgin, in this case, as in someone who hasn’t done something—”
“For fuck’s sake, Jane, I know what a virgin is in this context.” Dahl narrowed his eyes, “I guess five-fingering is shoplifting?”
“Yeah. What else could it possibly be?”
Dahl refocused on the panties, and he opened his mouth.
Jane squeezed her eyes tightly, cutting him off. “You know what? Never mind! Yes, five-fingering is shoplifting.” She shook her head slightly. “So you haven’t done much freetail therapy, based on your boyish look of wonder and innocence. I took you for a man with some street smarts, but I guess this isn’t your area of expertise?”
Dahl shrugged. “I’ve always liked sleight of hand. There seems to be some similar principles. Redirection, palming—there’s a kind of performance aspect.”
Jane was nodding. “That’s the idea.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Teach me how to do it.”
Jane scrunched her nose. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the ones taking me under your wing and all?”
“I’ll pay.”
“What?”
Dahl raised both eyebrows. “I’ll pay for the trip. Consider your expert services engaged.”
Jane tipped her chin up. She wasn’t a total charity case. Nodding, she glanced around, stuffed the underwear in her baggy pocket, and steered Dahl over to the outdoors section where the whole process could be less awkward.
They got off to a bit of a rocky start. Dahl kept dropping things, and Jane was sure they were going to get caught. Jane wondered out loud in the nicest way possible about his clumsiness, and her question was met with a withering stare. She tried to explain. “I mean, aren’t you a sword fighter? I assumed swordplay took some dexterity. Or does your skill come from magic instead of training?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I train. Seven days a week when we’re home.”
“Oh, sorry,” Jane mumbled, “I’m trying to fit things together.”
Dahl sighed, and his face softened. “Right. To answer your question, all pledges and agents train at home, and you will, too. Weapons, tactical, stealth, infiltration, the whole gamut. Also strength, flexibility, and cardio.” Dahl’s smirk grew as Jane’s scowl deepened. “Endless cardio.”
Jane couldn’t stop a laugh from ruining her accusation. “Why are you such a fucking sadist?”
Dahl grinned back. “It’s fun to have another new kid for a change. I bet Ian’s already on you to quit smoking.”
Jane rolled her eyes and picked up a baggie of fishhooks, showing Dahl how to casually palm them by pinching the plastic in seemingly relaxed fingers. He hefted the package, getting the weight and feel of it.
“In all seriousness, you’ll love it. We’ll take you to the campus in DC near where we live. It’s incredible. There are hiking trails along the Potomac and all the training facilities are private, exclusively for agents and pledges. I’m sure Ian will invite you to dinner. He has a great house. It’s colonial era but updated modern, and it kind of makes you feel like you’re a Lilliputian visiting Gulliver, because everything is made for, well, him. And, of course, there’s the library.” The way Dahl said the word, reverent and loving, Jane found herself leaning slightly forward for more details. He grinned and continued, “Imagine any wonderful thing you’ve ever wanted in a library.”
“Ceiling high, built-in wooden bookshelves?” Jane closed her eyes.
“Oh, of course.”
“Comfortable reading chairs?”
“Large and small, firm and cushy, leather and velvet—whatever you like.”
“Multistory interior with alcoves and balconies?” Jane’s excitement colored her voice.
“See? It’s like you’ve been there.” Dahl tried to palm the bag and dropped it after a few seconds. Coloring slightly, he retrieved the fishhooks from the floor.
Jane tried to be reassuring. “Don’t worry about it. It takes practice. You’re a little shaky, so maybe after lunch it’ll be easier.”
Dahl’s hand clenched and released, his voice abrasive. “It’s not low blood sugar, it’s nerve damage, and it takes for-fucking-ever to work through, and I am so sick of it.”
Jane drew her brows together and waited quietly. The play of emotions across Dahl’s face were hard to read. Jane held the silence. He regarded her with stormy eyes. “I didn’t want nerve damage.”
Jane nodded. “I’m sure nobody does.”
“I knew about it from . . . before.” He struggled over the last word and petered out.
“Okay.”
“I wouldn’t have—” Dahl choked off, unable to continue, then rallied and firmly took Jane’s hand, holding her gaze. “I didn’t have a plan for this. I knew about nerve damage, and I wouldn’t have . . . if I knew. Do you understand? I’d been in the hospital before. Do you remember our first meal together? I had a plan for everything else. I don’t do things without a plan.”
Jane nodded and squeezed his hand, wishing Ian was there to interpret. Her eyes flickered to his forearms, where the corner of a bandage peeked from beneath his sleeves. Dahl clearly wanted to be heard, so she went with that. “I’m listening. It sounds like you’ve had a rough time.”
Dahl’s lips moved silently for a few seconds before his face fell and his posture retracted a little. He stepped up to the peg board racks and hung up the fishhooks. “Yes. No matter. Keep listening, and we’ll get it worked out.”
With more time to kill, they hit a drive-through and stopped at a park. Sycamores and silver maples lined the shores of the small river, their leaves showing hints of yellows and reds. The water was low, and large, worn rocks peeked out above the calm surface. Jane hopped from one flat boulder to the next, enjoying the sunshine.
“It’ll get better.” Dahl glanced at her. He was sitting cross-legged on the pebbly shore, laying pills from various bottles in a row on his cargo pants, a paper cup of coffee steaming beside him. “Do you want iron? You lost blood. I always tend toward anemia.”
Jane took a moment to enjoy the autumn breeze before responding. “Sure, thanks. Do you always carry around nutritional supplements, or do you just manifest them from nothing?”
Dahl ghosted a smile and rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t materialize supplements or medication. I always carry iron. The others change a lot, but lithium has been a pretty constant companion. You didn’t mention bleeding when you talked about your side effects. Was it new?”
“Yeah, not my favorite. Huge, gaping hole opened up in my shoulder. It didn’t hurt much, though.” Jane checked her shoulder again. Smooth, untroubled skin. It was hard to believe how terrible it looked yesterday. “You were bleeding too, right?”
“Battle wounds,” Dahl offered by way of explanation. “The longer I go, the more I get. I can teach you some ways to delay them and help keep them under control, since you seem to have something similar. Do you remember what saints were in the book you read? Did any parts seem different from the rest as you were reading?”
She hopped back to shore and accepted an iron tablet. “The book was a whole accounting of the Christian saints in the early church. There were tons of them. I read the majority of it before I had my first experience. The stories were compelling, although most of them had pretty awful lives by our standards. It probably makes me a terrible Christian to admit it, but I don’t think I could have done what they did. I don’t remember finding any one part more or less memorable than another. Does it matter?”
“Links are formed between specific people. Ian and I are linked to the essence of fictional individuals who were exceptional in their stories. That’s how we draw our power. The words of the book are a spell enabling the right person to connect across the multiverse. Do you follow?” Dahl tipped his head back and swallowed a small fistf
ul of pills.
“What? No. That doesn’t make any sense at all.” She laughed.
“Why? Is it a surprise books are magical?”
Jane considered. Writing was wonderful, one of mankind’s great accomplishments. Anyone who could write was able to send their thoughts, feelings, and ideas to people thousands of miles or years away. It could even make someone sort of immortal. “I guess I can believe in magic books, but spells and multiverses? Come on.” She picked up her cup. “You lost me.”
Dahl took a chaser sip. “All books have a little magic. Most people can sense it. It’s the reason we find book burnings so abhorrent. Even the idea of tearing pages out or throwing one in the trash puts most people on edge. We preserve books after we’ve read them in special places of honor, on furniture built solely to house them, because we sense they have inherent value. Is it such an epiphany that some books are more magical than others? The organization I work for, Sana Baba, uses that magic to connect trained agents with magical powers. There’s a whole exhausting process of selection and preparation. They’ve kept records about the best way to do everything, so the older texts are pretty much a done deal—they know all the variables and how to work with them. So taking this a step further, you can see what it means for you.”
Jane nodded slowly. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”
Dahl smirked. “Of course. So we live in one version of reality, yes? But there are others. The multiverse is infinite, so even if only a tiny percentage is populated, there are infinite populations. All possibilities exist somewhere.”
“Okay, I actually don’t see what this means for me.”
“You’ve used the magic of the written word to connect with someone in a different reality.”
