by Chloe Garner
“I don’t need to chase anyone out this morning, do I?” she asked. He rubbed his face and waved her in.
“Not today,” he said. “What’s up?”
She sat on the end of the bed, folding her hands in her lap carefully.
“I did something bad,” she said.
“You and Sam finally make it official after I went to bed?” he asked, then frowned. She was serious. “What’s up?”
“I thought that maybe Sam remembering what Carly did to him was keeping me from clearing it.” She pressed her lips together and looked at her fidgety fingers. “So I blocked the memories.”
“You can do that?”
She chewed her lip and nodded.
“It’s simple re-definition of truth. Probably a sister spell to what Carly used in the first place. It’s an ethical minefield, and I don’t need you to tell me that, but… He doesn’t remember key pieces of what happened to him any more.”
“Okay,” Jason said. “I get the feeling there’s more?”
“You can’t remind him. I didn’t actually remove the memories. That could have caused brain damage. I just covered them up, and if he realizes that there’s something weird, he’ll go picking at it, and pull them all back out again, and we’ll be back where we started.”
“Then you’ll just do it again, right?”
“No. I can’t. So… he remembers Carly. I couldn’t pull her out entirely and substitute something else for the last six months. No way we could pull that big a lie off. He doesn’t remember them ever sleeping together. He doesn’t remember any conversation about it, either. Any spells she cast or rituals she performed are gone as well, though those shouldn’t be as big a deal, because I assume you weren’t there for those, so there’s nothing to trigger the memories. I substituted what I could; I did my best to make sure there aren’t any glaring holes, but it would be really easy for you to accidentally reference something that he doesn’t remember any more. So we need to avoid talking about her, and we need to keep him from thinking about it, if we can. He knows something is weird, and I told him that there are going to be things I can’t tell him, because they’ll hurt him…” She chewed her lip again. “Just be careful. Don’t draw attention. Don’t overreact if he says something about her, just change the topic.”
“He remembers she was a demon and you killed her?”
“Yeah, and he remembers that she was why he was sick, but the details there are fuzzy. If he goes looking, it will all come back out again.”
“What about the scars?”
“He can’t see them. Your mind can choose to see or not see things - I assume that’s how ghosts work, for normal people - and he just won’t know they’re there.”
“And if some chick asks?” Jason asked.
“What would you say if I asked about the scars on your back?” Samantha asked. Jason considered. He had a few. So did Sam, for that matter, even before Carly. He nodded.
“I see what you’re saying.”
“As long as she doesn’t make a big deal about it, he’ll say something about being in a rough line of work, and that will be it. I’ll see what I can do to make them less visible in general. It’s a risk, but…” She sighed and started picking at her fingernails. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”
“You’re freaking out because you had to lie to him to fix him,” Jason said.
“Among other things,” Samantha said. He checked to make sure he was wearing shorts - late last night was kind of a fuzzy sea of hard liquor - then stood.
“You did right, in my book. You don’t need to apologize for anything.”
She dropped her hands in her lap and looked up, then laughed.
“Thank you. Irrational as it is, that means the world to me.”
Jason pulled a shirt out of a drawer and put it on.
“How is he?”
“Happy. Hung over. Drinking coffee on the front porch like it’s still morning,” Samantha said.
“You two are normal again?”
“I could sleep for a week, and I expect he’ll have some catching up to do, as well…” She frowned thoughtfully. “Jason, I’ve been around really bad soulburn before. Depression is part of it, but usually there’s debilitating paranoia, as well. He trusted us the whole time. You need to understand how unusual that is.”
“Sam loves everybody,” Jason said. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”
She smiled and went to the door.
“Week and a half here sound like a good vacation?” she asked. He glanced at her and nodded.
“I think we’ve earned it.”
<><><>
The next week was a sunny blur of sleeping late, eating lots, and going out and getting drunk while Samantha danced. During the days, she blasted music on the stereo so that it could be heard anywhere in the house, and Jason rarely found her but with Sam, singing or dancing, or both. Sam was in the moment and happy. The New Mexico summer was coming quickly, and the days grew hotter and hotter. Samantha took refuge in the house during daylight hours, but Jason found a pick-up game of basketball at a park down the street a few days in a row and managed not to hurt himself. He hadn’t played in years, and he came home exhausted at dusk, in time for dinner and then going out. He looked at the computer once or twice that week, feeling guilty, since he was pretty sure Sam hadn’t opened it either, but it stayed on a counter in the kitchen, unattended, the rest of the time.
One morning late in the week, a little after one in the afternoon, Jason stumbled out of his room and downstairs to find Sam standing at the back window.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“You’re up early,” Sam commented.
“I slept like the dead,” Jason answered. “Where’s Sam?”
Sam smirked and Jason looked out the window.
Samantha was stretching on the back porch. Jason had seen how flexible she was, dancing, but just watching her stand and stretch, one form after another, was mesmerizing.
“I didn’t know she could do that,” he said after a minute. Sam nodded. “Ow.” He glanced at Sam. “How often does she do this?”
“Three or four times a day since New York, best I can tell,” Sam said. Jason shook his head, leaning his arm against the wall.
“How did I not know this?” he asked. Sam grinned at him.
“Look at yourself. You look like Wile E. Coyote right now.”
“She know you’re watching?” Jason asked.
“She knows you’re watching, now, too,” Sam said. Samantha turned and rolled her eyes at him, then went on.
“You two are creepy,” Jason said. A few minutes later, she came in.
“That’s awesome,” Jason told her.
“I’d like to see you do half of it,” she said. He rolled his shoulders.
“I’m built for fighting, Sweetheart.”
“That’s what I stretch for,” she said. He cocked his head.
“Like being able to bend your body in half is going to help you against a demon,” he said. She grinned, stretching her arms over her head for a moment, then pursed her lips.
“I’ll show you.”
She went into the front room and motioned for Sam to help her move the couch. They pushed it against the wall by the front door, then moved the coffee table to the opposite corner.
“Can you reach that?” she asked Jason, motioning to the light fixture suspended from the eighteen-foot entrance. Sam went to go sit on the stairs to watch them through the railing. Jason stretched for the light, but his fingertips were inches short. She nodded and took a step back to put her feet into some kind of intentional spacing. She held up her hand, palm up, and flicked her fingers closed. He bit his tongue playfully and stood, relaxed, looking at her.
“Sam, I would break you,” he said. She waved him forward again.
“I can take it,” she teased. “Trust me.”
He looked at Sam.
“She did fight Carly,” Sam reminded him. �
�We were kind of pinned to the wall at the time.”
Jason sighed and turned to face Samantha. She was grinning, her tongue playing along the edges of her teeth. She waved him on. He put his arms up in a casually defensive boxing configuration and took one step forward and jabbed for her head. She bobbed to the side, then ducked under his arm, springing forward and kneeing him in the stomach. He felt her elbow drive into the center of his back as he doubled over her knee, and she pulled her leg away, letting him drop on the floor. His mouth hung open pointlessly for a moment before his body relaxed enough to breathe. He knew how to force himself to relax, draw breath, roll, spring away, get clear, not get stomped, but the shock of her reaction time drove those well-ingrained lessons out, in favor of curled up gasping. She squatted over him, hands on knees and waited for him to look up at her.
“Shall I play nice, now?” she asked. He rolled off of his side, steadying himself with wide-spread feet and took a breath, coughing.
“Again,” he said, holding up a hand for her to help him up. He tried to blind-side her with the other fist as she pulled him up, but again she ducked away, pulling him over center and meeting his cheekbone with her elbow. His head snapped back and he fell on the floor again. She clucked her tongue at him.
“You cheat, I will punish you. I’ll play nice, now, but only as long as you do.”
He pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, nodding at the floor, shaking his head to clear the stars. He heard Sam laughing.
“How do you do that?” he asked.
“Live long enough, and I just might teach you,” she said. The grin was back, her tongue working at the point of her canine.
They sparred. She played right on the edge of bruises - visible bruises, at least - and while Jason had to admit she had a huge advantage on him for the shapes her body could take to dodge and recover, what astonished him was her power. No one held their own with him. No one. He could pick her up and throw her into the wall, if he could just get his hands on her, and yet he felt the welts and bruises forming on his ribs and thighs. She let him hit her, but the whole time, it felt like she was trying to teach him, more than equals landing blows. Eventually he staggered over to the couch and waved Sam down from the stairs.
“You get your share of this, too,” he said. Samantha shook her hands out and turned to watch him.
“I can’t hit him like I do you,” she said. “I’d recoil too much.” She paused as Sam stood next to her. “I’m just saying that to make sure that you know it’s not because I like him and hate you. It’s definitely not that.”
Jason grinned and waved at them.
She and Sam sparred for most of an hour, but for the two of them, it looked more like a workout, compared to the proper fight Jason had experienced.
“Should you be doing that?” Jason asked after a while. “With your leg?”
Samantha glanced down at her leg.
“Probably not. Not that I was in any danger with you,” she said. She went and got a towel out of the kitchen and tossed one to Sam, wiping off her face. They had managed to out-sweat the dry heat. Jason had retired bone-dry, but she was damp, and Sam’s shirt and hair were drenched. Sam seemed winded.
“You’re not out of shape, are you?” Jason asked.
“Let’s see you go through three weeks of soulburn and stay in top form,” Sam said.
“I want ice cream,” Samantha said, stretching her legs absent-mindedly.
“I second that,” Jason said, getting up. The hour had stiffened him considerably, and he realized he wasn’t going to play basketball tonight. She bent double over her knees, curling her back in a serpentine motion to stand and holding her hands above her head to bend backwards. She grunted.
“So out of shape,” she said. She lifted lightly out of the back bend and trotted up the stairs.
“I’m going to get changed,” she called over her shoulder. “You two should wash before you impose yourselves on the public.”
“She’s unbelievable,” Jason said. “We need to enter her in cage fights.”
“She’s fast,” Sam agreed, rubbing the back of his neck with the towel.
“She’s strong,” Jason said. Sam shook his head.
“It’s leverage,” he said. “She’s nowhere near as strong as either one of us, but she knows her levers.”
“Whatever, Mr. Wizard. Your girlfriend could beat you up,” Jason said.
“She only beat you up,” Sam said. “Not me.”
Jason pulled his shirt up to examine his ribcage. Faint red marks showed where, tomorrow, there would be rainbow bruises.
“Yeah, she did,” Jason said. “You suppose I could get Stevie to pick a fight with her?”
“I’d pay to see that,” Sam said.
“I’d make a killing on bets,” Jason answered. “Remind me to take a run at that, next time we end up at one of those things.” Sam nodded.
“You want something to drink?” he asked. Jason realized how dry his mouth was, at the thought of water, and he tried to stand up. And fell back down. Sam laughed.
“I’ll get it, old man,” Sam said.
“You’re lucky she can’t actually hit you,” Jason called after him. “She could beat you with one arm tied behind her back.”
Sam laughed from the kitchen and, returning, sat down on the couch next to him, handing him a glass of water.
“It’s good to have you back, man,” Jason said. Sam nodded, running his fingers through his hair as he drained the glass, tipping it back, then setting it on his knee.
“Good to be back,” he said.
“Have you done anything to let Simon know we’re even alive?” Jason asked. Sam shook his head.
“We should do that.”
“We should do that.”
They sat silently for a moment, and Jason finished his water in huge gulps.
“But shower first,” Sam said. “Definitely shower first.”
“You stink, man,” Jason said. Sam shouldered him and stood.
“That’s you,” he said. “Don’t fall down and hurt yourself, or anything.”
Jason watched his brother go up the stairs, then set his glass on the ground and began the undignified process of finding his own way upstairs.
<><><>
Sam? Simon pinged as soon as Jason booted up the laptop.
Jason, Jason answered.
You aren’t dead? Simon asked.
Not a zombie. Jason answered.
Glad to hear it. That wins me a bunch of money Simon said. Jason grinned.
What were our odds? he asked.
2:1 alive, with a separate pool for why you were radio silent. Lowest odds there are that you shacked up someplace with a couple of hot girls and no internet access Simon said.
Injury recovery Jason said.
Simon FTW Simon said. Jason grinned wider.
They do remember that Sammy-girl is back, right?
I heard a rumor there’s a side bet on whether she shacked with Sam, you, unknown guy, or one of the hot girls Simon answered. Jason tipped his head back and laughed.
You guys have a death wish he typed. I’m going to tell her you said that.
Hey, I was betting laid up. Simon said. But to business. Sam said Sam had a fondness for arsonists?
We call her Samderina, to keep them straight Jason said.
That does sound like a death wish Simon replied.
Arsonist?
In Flagstaff. House blew up. Looks intentional. Whole family asleep upstairs.
Yeah, Samabella will want to take that one. Anything on any of the cold cases?
I’ve got people looking to help. A few leads, but nothing worth chasing.
Sure, sure. I know you people and your gaming habit.
Hey, my wife doesn’t let me do that stuff like I used to. Simon said.
I didn’t know you got married.
April.
Wow. Sorry I missed it.
No worries. I’ll e-mail the address of the house, but
you won’t be able to miss it, on local media Simon said. Glad you’re alive.
Thanks.
Jason knew that Seekers tended to create false dates to celebrate online, to keep their identities separate from what the Rangers knew about them, but it was probable that he and his wife had had their ceremony in April. He would just wait some arbitrary period to file the paperwork. Simon’s a grownup, he thought. How strange.
He walked to the stairs to yell up.
“Pack up for tomorrow morning. We’ve got an arson in Flagstaff.”
Samantha stuck her head out of Sam’s room.
“You should probably come up here for this.”
Jason grimaced. He’d rather not. He leaned hard on the railing, glad no one was there to watch him trying to master the stairs.
<><><>
Samantha sat un-self-consciously on his knees, facing him as he sat on his bed, her fingertips spread over his face and the crown of his head, her eyes closed. He was torn between looking around awkwardly or, since her eyes were closed, just staring at her chest.
“Stop fidgeting,” she said.
“I’m not moving,” he said. He glanced up to find her eyes open.
“You’re fidgeting, and I’m trying to focus.”
He closed his eyes.
“You’re a jerk, by the way,” she said.
“What?”
“I may not be able to tell what you’re thinking, but I can tell how you’re thinking it,” she said. He grinned, and she pushed her fingertips harder against his scalp. His eyes rolled back in his head.
“Can you just do that for its own sake, sometime?” he asked. He heard her slight snort of amusement.
“It isn’t that bad in here,” Samantha said. “She didn’t stunt you so much as cap your visions.”
Her hands lifted and he heard her mouth open as she licked her thumbs. Even so, he jerked away when she touched his eyes.
“Sorry. Should have warned you,” she said. She brushed the pads of her thumbs over his eyelids and a headache that he didn’t realize he had had lifted. “Better?” she asked, replacing her hands. He nodded. Something scrabbled in the wall behind him. That was a sound he had forgotten about. She hummed tunelessly for a moment, then sat back, dropping her hands. He opened his eyes and, as she shifted to stand, put his hands on her hips to hold her still. They looked at each other from about six inches apart.
